Only Seventeen

We were only seventeen,
Deciding that we’d play a bit with fire —
The car became a treasure house,
A gateway to adulthood, and desire —

We pushed our way past all the trees
That lined our streets with doubt;
For one was on the outside in,
The other, inside out —

We drove around the world, it seemed:
Or thought the world around us surely turned —
But we were only seventeen,
And learned enough of fire to

Get burned

Author: Owen Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

7 thoughts on “Only Seventeen”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s