teen poems

i sometimes wonder if it's really true
when i was broke in london
we who stood
were it not for that singular smell
all down the years
i love to steal awhile away
a storm is riding on the tide
let me move slowly through the street
made up of loveliness alone
risen from the dead
when a deed is done for freedom
there is no escape by the river
what do i owe to you
just as my fingers on these keys