Written at age 13. I wasn't sure what I was writing about at the time (I remember). Once grown, I realized I was mocking authority, rules, restrictions, adult-versioned perfect, who I was meant and needed to be.
When crimsons are worn and winters mourn; When time is not a clock, watch or real And sunsets have lost their appeal - Then I shall face my doom, But wake me not before noon. When you can stretch out your hand And come with me to a nowhere land, I will put violets in your hair. When you can sigh with no despair, Then I shall believe you rare. When I stand alone and you go away Do not dare come ask me to play. When tomorrow is not neglected, and finally arrives and someday is a day called now, then you shall see relief in mine eyes. When all words care and mountains rise higher, When trees can breathe and apples are truly red, Then I shall stop yelling above your head. When flowers fail to bloom and seven years does not mean locust, maybe then life shall focus. When I can find my very own star Without the need of looking far, When I lose my urge to splurge and neglect My search for a still burning torch, What then .... if when?
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