When did I become a slave to the clock?
Always ticking, tocking; I always watched.
Payed close attention to the turning of time, but when was it that life flashed before my eyes?
What happened to being 3 or 4?
What happened to picnics?
What happened to running around and collapsing on the floor?
When did we become enslaved to life, when did we start to give a shit about him? Or when did he, for me?
When did we stop seeing eye to eye, but as children we were all reaching for the same skies.
When did hope turn to choice?
Because if you hold your tongue, then you'll never have a voice.
Because children are wanderers, and I am an adult. We no longer get to dream; without being controlled by guilt.
YOU ARE READING
Life Has Its Up's And Downs
PoesíaThis is a poetry book baised off of the positives and negatives faces in everyday life.
