Soundless in desperation are the voices of fury,
Absent in the carefree betrayal of friendship,
Unheeded by the frivoulous crowd,
I sit and write the story of my grief.
The days move on, like rows of ants upon a white paper,
Leaving footprints on the blank canvas of my youth,
A leaf i am, torn from a book called life,
Lost in the wilderness of earth.
