I knew waiting for me
Was a firm seat.
My heart was packed by
Blocking and waiting.
My coincidence of delay of traffic stood,
Doubtless and unknown.
I liked him.
He long understood me and
We became the best of friends.
He had killed the average representative
Of travelers and the wanderers of romance.
Joy has always remained
A short tragedy.
The garden aglow, ruins of ancient guests
With whom I had many interesting talks:
A princess and her coachman.
The seduced girl and the young man.
Penniless, she drifted several years.
Suddenly, the wretched,
crushing responsibility with her conviction
To devote her to life
To refuse such ignominy.
I have forgotten how the
Vague impression was still trying
To persuade her she
Fell ill and died.
Paris Mather is a 21 year old writer from Cleveland, Ohio. For her, writing is a necessity rather than a luxury. As a student at Case Western Reserve University, she spends her time writing, reading, playing piano, cooking, and living through emotions that usually turn into poetry.