
Abroad
Bored of being spoon-fed—
Despair.
I was wasting my youth,
And I was aware.
Gloomy, gloomy, gloomy,
Couldn’t inhale the delight in the air.
Above in the clouds,
I touched life again<
My shell was cracking,
and I was dazzled,
from the narrow fissure.
I was dizzy, with joy
Joy of knowing my way to fight out—
to my world
a world where I should belong.
On a new continent,
with my clumsy English,
all alone.
While I am
bathing in the sun.
In a world of possibility,
I have not enough time for life—
A life to live, rather than existing.
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: