A sail of the finest form
May not match the fiercest storm.

A rose of the sweetest scent,
Cannot thrive on this cement.


Grandmother's days are now numbered.
Having spent half her life slumbered.
She must haved lived a fruitful youth,
Then suffered raising the uncouth.
Tales of her years in her wrinkles,
And time gave her hair white sprinkles.
Draconian to the defiant,
Yet she's treated like a servant.
Her gifts, some took so long to see,
Some modern ' Savants', just like me.
So will there be a chance to gain,
Shelling eggs with Grandma again?


Seventeen years i've survived,
And i have seen ugliness thrived.
Consuming.
Feeding.
Ugliness leeching off beauty.
Savouring.
Lusting.
For flesh pleasures and vainity.
Mainly self satisfactory.

Ugliness akined to Evil.
Leering.
Laughing.
To acknowledge such evil grin,
Yet do naught to atone is sin.
I laugh.
I laugh?
This Evil... ... Is human.
Is me.