What is youth made of?

The humble grace of sorrow stirs as nothing could stand for it and part it or make it disappear.I have no other choice but to leave it hanging like a heavy stone before my heart,my ears and eyes,as the vale of hope does not come down so easily.So there i go,being nobody fearing everything,crying out loud,letting tears be dissolved by the sunlight and wind.I am what nature wanted me to be,unstable,bare aching and vivid.I am young and that s why half of my problems,of my tears and of my energy doesn't count in the conceptual loop of sorrow.What can we complain of? Too much live and such a frail body?