Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2016
the great procession of history
is often in a rush
and when I was a child it was snail slow boredom that often tortured your dreams and wrung them out to dry.
To escape was the eternal elusive plan to put into action
which in turn instilled a deep personal endurance
and a perseverance hidden from the world.
You had to find your place, your spot, so you could dance and sing your small way in the great procession of life, make all your dreams come true, not take them with you tucked away in your heart, to the grave.
Written by
nivek
288
     Nirvana, ---, Mack and ---
Please log in to view and add comments on poems