Young Writers Society

The dark candle
burns with memories,
both ends alight,
Inebriated?
No.
Just stoned from birth,
but never forgotten.


The dark secrets,
Of a nuns dress,
The hair of time,
weaved full of stories.
Exaggerated?
No.
Just polished with time
but never fogotten.

A tug, a sleep, a walk, a weep,
but never forgotten.