Sorry To My Past

For, ages past, I finally peeled out my illusory shell, Roaming about naked on the surface, where my mind was covered with cloth made of rust, Thus, regurgitate all my words swallowed, spit it back at me, for, it's rusty dust, Use your shovel to dig off my steps, as my theories have finally fell. The night stars abound, reminds me of glittery gold, strive to vain A hearten statue sitting all day long on the city centre, lift the mess caused to rare fame, O! Material like moss, I gathered the same, Homage to no image, but their seeds I struggled to feign. Coldly, boldly, I sent acquaintance running farther from my adventure, For, my new tongue blabbers of no race's language, Will I adapt to this life?, as I console my tears of unknown future, Will the past vapourized? Never to surface in my newly age. This I ponder, as I wander like Crusoe in an empty field, Sorry to my past, because it what life yield.