This is the first poem I ever wrote, at the overdue age of nine, and
probably still my most honest piece of work.
I must leave this place not mine
I must go where its memory can not come upon my mind
I once thought that I could press through further
Then time gave way for me to suffer
I know there is a road ahead
One I can see no sign yet of
And the question comes upon my soul
Can I make the turn ahead
And if I do, what will be seen
Or will it be there greeting me
A chance to spread my winds and fly
And if my wing is to be broke
I will pursue, forgo regret
For there is no greater pain that can be felt
Nor could there be
Then that of a tortured heart.
