I hear their plans.
They talk of college.
They speak of jobs.
The fond memories of past relations;
they flood every young mind in this room.
Some want to be doctors,
some want to be nurses,
while others just want to party.
What is the point?
If we all die,
why do we try?
I have dreams,
dreams of travels,
dreams of loves,
dreams of animals,
and dreams of life.
Those dreams turn into plans.
Plans turn into lifestyles.
But in the end,
Life becomes Death.
YOU ARE READING
5-18-15
PoetryI couldn't focus in Algebra today because everyone kept talking, but I've been pretty depressed again lately.... And this "poem" came out of nowhere....
