Christopher, Age 16, British Columbia, Canada

Falling away from a lost ideal
Of yesterday, when it felt so real
But now it means nothing, along with the past
Nothing was ever enough to make anything last

So hold on tight and donít let go
Itís time for something new, something slow
To develop and to thrive in a world defined by hate
To the surprise of us all, too bad itís too late

It never actually begun, but has been here from the start
With the precision and uncertainty of a bleeding, beating heart
Always aware but never able to see the end
Unwilling to acknowledge what lies beyond the bend

Where the trees are black and the birds sing only one song
Itís sombre, slow, and dark, but above all else, long
Aching to escape the confines of its time
A pause while it plays; a break in the rhyme.

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