letter to my best friend (post title 2)

sometimes in the search of glory
there is nowhere to  run
deeply in love with the night
and the heavens dared
suddenly no place to hide
yet she smiled
the folly of youth
still sleeps in memories
the mental asylum
and being Robinson Crusoe
in the years in between
broke changed...so did gay
softness disappeared
still the heaven's dared
not another story was written
nor a painting done
just the rain dropped in and cared
a dead flower in my pot
while i was bathing by the sea
like the dead kitten on my lap
as i ran back home
some burials are grand
of some, one is never told
both the fire and the darkness
come and tell the story
of how the beggar prince learnt
sometimes in the search of glory
there is nowhere to run