When I was a child I had this dream
of flowers and butterflies
and all things that gleam.
I would go to the garden
and wished to be
a tiny insect,
to fly like a bee.
Free from all ties
nothing could stop me
My imagination run wild
when i was a child.
But now I've grown up
and i dream no more
of beautiful things
My mind knows the score.
The daunting nightmares
that fill the night
they take me to places
where there's no light.
I wake up and think
It has all been a dream!
But then I look at myself
I feel it on my skin.
Of beautiful things
I dream no more
My soul is damaged
she knows the score.
Ma'am That's an outstanding extraordinary piece of work.. childhood is flower, that we wish would stay ever blooming but it droops.. yet its incense ticks most of times and imparts a consoling peace. Thanks to you, your this poem added more fragrance to those past memories....
this is a beautiful poem of introspection, , the first part has a dream-like atmosphere and the second nightmarish...thanx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is no better time than your childhood Cherry. And yes, things get tough when you 'grow up', but soon you will dream of beautiful things once again - I guarantee it. I wrote a poem called depression, which you might like to look at.