When will my summer come?
What do I have to do?
Will my summer ever be?
How will I make it through?
When will I feel those summer comforts?
That warmth against my skin?
Should I bother dreaming?
Will that summer ever begin?
When will my summer be there for me?
Why has it taken so long?
Maybe my summer isn’t coming?
Maybe i’m wrong?
My summer might not ever exist?
Perhaps there is no summer for me?
Maybe my luck just isn’t there?
Just maybe it will never be?
Could I live without summer?
Without that warmth, that wonderous light?
Surely it’s just impossible?
It just wouldn’t be right?
This is a poem I wrote around 2007, one of my first ever poems. I liked how this one turned out, there are some double meanings and such in there which come out the more I read it.