When I was twelve I doodled ‘Poetry is the epitaph of life’ in the margin of my English book. I stumbled across this recently and it made me realise how youth and inexperience actually allowed me to bare my soul in words, with no sense of holding back for fear of judgement. If only it was as easy as that as we grow older! This was a poem I wrote when I was fourteen years old –
Minutes of Uncertainty
The cold, grey morning
unwraps itself around my bed,
sliding over my dream and casting
that especially cruel Monday morning death
over my contented peace.
The time rolls on,
there is a destiny waiting,
a world unfulfilled,
lives to be led.
Beyond this, somewhere, is an end
where no tomorrow and no today survive,
where time hovers
and one hour becomes half an eternity,
the rest of our lives the missing half.