Forgetting my dreams, setting aside what I love doing the most. I have no time; I don’t find time to be someone better, to be someone I would want to be.
My dreams are dying, faster than the way you consume that cigarette.
Have I realized what my path is? Or have I ignored the fact that I cannot be what I would want to be? And cannot do what I would want to? Watching another identity Conspire another burial of my dreams.
Checked in a hotel room, just to gather emotions I can’t grasp anymore. And I touch the walls just to seek a single word from those who have been there. Just to imagine how it feels like, to be back to your normal self And relive the desires your heart is fighting for.
Have you known yourself well enough to bring back To your veins those dreams that Were peeled off by Some abnormal Pressure?
This is what I could imagine myself doing twenty years from now. This is something I won’t grow tired of doing.
Just like a photograph taken from a long time ago, it won’t bring back The atmosphere, nor the richness of emotions during the time it was taken, But it will always make you wonder why You haven’t done what you were supposed to and What you were Most certain of.
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About emanilapoetry emanilapoetry formally opened on 19 June 2005 and is an online community of more than 400 writers and poets from various countries. As at 28 Sept 2007, this site has more 6,862 poem entries in archives.
