The dreams and fears of a long gone youth,
Blended to the colors of a crumbling old wall.
The beliefs and hopes which supposed to raise me,
Stained me like little black patches above the oil lamp.
The million little choice I carefully made,
Only to be strayed on a doubtful dark night.
On the path to the eternal life, of happiness and laughs,
Awaits the white lady, pitying our narrowed sight of life.
The dream and fears of a soft hearted kid
Lurks the mind of every indifferent adult.
While we raise our voices for the reasons, forever
we made our actions on it’s cold, wet grave.
We judge every human and every damn instance,
to make worser mistakes on that made up bright day.
On the path to be a better of our little own group,
The one in the chair smiled all knowing, always.
The dreams and fears doesn’t make sense anymore,
Nor does the sight and sound around me, ever.
The children run wild at the first breath of freedom,
Never eyeing those who depraved of it and dying.
There’s no judgment anymore, only counting
The regrets of a life that I dared to waste.
One long last look at the world, beautiful and calm,
Something that I can’t and should have done long ago.
“The dreams in which I’m dying is the best one I’ve ever had” – Roland Orzabal.
Part of my #The100DaysOfPoetryLearning project.
Picture from Unsplash.