I Burnt My Diary

I started with a declaration; I wanted a fresh start,
I burnt my aged diary, I saw the vestiges swathe.
I burnt my diary.
I stumbled through my thoughts; I was full with new kit,
I finished plans; I finished new-fangled system.
I burnt my diary.
I knew what went before, I just did not want it to replicate
I just did not want to be penitent; I just did not want to kill myself.
I burnt my diary.

It is not what you are, but what you will be, I remembered it.
Man can be good, better and dreadful, that’s what I knew.
I knew the pros and the cons. I went on.
I burnt my diary.
There were few unfinished lines; I wanted to fill them,
I wanted to write whatever I can, whatever it felt.
I burnt my diary.

A year came on and went, and I am still standing.
I am at the middle of the ocean.
I don’t know whether I will drown or die.
I burnt my diary.
Am I fed up, no not at all?
I am just tired. I will rise,
I know I plunge, but I know sting,
And I know the remedy.
I just burnt my diary.