Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Anastasia Aug 2019
This sort of dream
Is classified with an interpretation of heaven
The one with you
Holding my hands
And looking me in the eyes
Lips close enough to touch
I wish I could have your love
This kind of night
Could be classified with where true love begins
With fireflies
And moon reflections in your eyes
Skin soaking in the moonlight
Dancing until sunrise
Dandelions dreams
And unstitching seams
I wish I could breathe you in
This sort of magic
Could be classified with
The way you look at me
The sun lighting the clouds
Speaking out loud
Hands around my waist
Obsessed with the way you taste
I really wish this was real
Alexander Nov 2017
Labels and biased stickers,
Sharp whispers and evil snickers,
Dimmed hallways,
And a never-ending craze.
Three minutes, no two!
What do you want to do?
Come on, you have to say it, you!
Let this shroud darken your view.

On the street, men with two left hands,
Assault orders, without plans.
Where God has left his mercy,
So too, lies his hypocrisy.
Say it now!
Hurry quick, it’s something I’ll allow.
One solemn verse, one final vow.
Tell me how you’ll end your days, how?

Freedom of speech, but no freedom of choice.
So much sound, yet not a single voice.
I come from a sea, loud and wild,
The last time I smiled, was when I was a mere child.
But now I stand and bask in my glory.
I will not be classified in any category!
I will scream and tell my story!
Death is certain, but life is mandatory.

— The End —