Dreams Flutter,
twirling inside,
the chimerical mind,
of a dreamer;
my head soaring up,
to meet the clouds,
dancing among the stars.
Being a dreamer,
I am no stranger,
to listening to the lyrics of my heart,
perrsuading me to obtain,
a bouquet of hopes and desires,
that resonates with,the strings of my soul.
"you're impractical",
taunts the voices,
weighing my spirt down,
as self-doubt lingers,
upon my lips,
tasting the return of the bitterness,
a brackish inferiority,
leaving the gulp of confidence,
a difficult pill to swallow.
The shackles around my legs,
forces my choices to decrease,
as the chains of the past,
stifle the ability,
to utilize the clouds,
enveloping my thoughts ,
as stepping stones.
The sight of Intuition,
a gift of the prophets,
allows me to tap into,
talents of Creativity,
skills of persistence,
painting colors,
saturated in intellect,
concealed by a youthful demeanor.
The corset of Thorns,
pricking my torso,
a garment I reuse,
to wear upon my frame,
the suit of torture,
entrapping me within,
a plague of atrocious remembrance.
I return to the physical world,
abandoning my environmental prison,
to bathe in a hot spring of Lotus Flowers,
soothing my exterior form,
as I conquer one element,
of my internal Struggle.
I rise from the plethora,
of Lotus Flowers,
basking in the dawn of my metamorphosis,
gaining ecstasy,
as I arrive one step,
closer to reaching the biggest desire,
of this dreamer.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
Dreams Flutter,
twirling inside,
the chimerical mind,
of a dreamer;
my head soaring up,
to meet the clouds,
dancing among the stars.
Being a dreamer,
I am no stranger,
to listening to the lyrics of my heart,
perrsuading me to obtain,
a bouquet of hopes and desires,
that resonates with,the strings of my soul.
"you're impractical",
taunts the voices,
weighing my spirt down,
as self-doubt lingers,
upon my lips,
tasting the return of the bitterness,
a brackish inferiority,
leaving the gulp of confidence,
a difficult pill to swallow.
The shackles around my legs,
forces my choices to decrease,
as the chains of the past,
stifle the ability,
to utilize the clouds,
enveloping my thoughts ,
as stepping stones.
The sight of Intuition,
a gift of the prophets,
allows me to tap into,
talents of Creativity,
skills of persistence,
painting colors,
saturated in intellect,
concealed by a youthful demeanor.
The corset of Thorns,
pricking my torso,
a garment I reuse,
to wear upon my frame,
the suit of torture,
entrapping me within,
a plague of atrocious remembrance.
I return to the physical world,
abandoning my environmental prison,
to bathe in a hot spring of Lotus Flowers,
soothing my exterior form,
as I conquer one element,
of my internal Struggle.
I rise from the plethora,
of Lotus Flowers,
basking in the dawn of my metamorphosis,
gaining ecstasy,
as I arrive one step,
closer to reaching the biggest desire,
of this dreamer.
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