Wed, 01/30/2019 - 09:57 -- elynnor

I was twelve years too late.

Or perhaps you were twelve years too soon.

Yet, your melodies,

Your soul,

Your sheer passion and enchant,

Is forever my refuge.


Yours was the voice of millions,

The one that captivated not only a nation,

But a world.

A world in need of the light you offered,

Even in your own darkest hours.

A world so void of what you were to give,

So unprepared of the wrath you would soon have,

Yet so lucky to have you.


And even though I was never apart of that world,

Of your world,

I belong more in it than my own.


This poem is about: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741