/lit/ - Literature

From a slanted perspective,
it was not him to fault
Who to blame but our God
for a young man’s curious thoughts?

A freethinker by the day
and a religious by night
His mind was the battleground,
his ideas -- the fight!

Always destined to greatness
in his own little head
Guided swiftly by spirits
of those who are long dead

Astounded by nature,
though very little tan.
A tad bit misanthropic
but a lover of Men

If he’s not mentally ill
then what on Earth goes on?
“He’s just a romantic fellow,
He loves putting a little show”

But is it really just a show?
It might just be an addiction
How can one even live
in such horrible contradiction?


He’s vagabond in disguise
Who keeps saying “the world is done!”,
but knows very certainly
that his life has just begun
P.S.: This is my first and probably only attempt at writing poetry so any feedback would be nice, thanks.