If I can write a story, I'd do it. It would be the most incredible storey ever told. I was going to write about my father.
By Chaitanya Babu2 years ago in Poets
Whenever she's here along with me, my Sorrow, Considers these dreary fall rainy days Are as lovely as weeks can be;
When creatures lurked beneath my bed, I was terrified. And I had a lot of terrifying dreams. When thunder rumbled, I dreaded the sounds.
I'm fed up with dreaming. I've exhausted my options. I'm tired of living yet terrified of dying. Perhaps things are going well for you.
Every night, I sit in my bed. I look for a star to wish on but can't find one. As a result, I try to sleep, but all I can think about is you.
Your internal clock is running away at the end of your life. Memories that feel like they happened yesterday become glimpses of memories that vanish.
Take a deep breath and relax. Make yourself at ease. Let your hair down, Allow it to sway in the breeze. Allow your sight to roam.
You may notice me struggling. You won't see me collapse, though. Whether I'm strong or not, I'm going to take a strong stance.
If you can dream without becoming a slave to your dreams; If you can think—rather than making thoughts your goal— If you can deal with both triumph and disaster, you'll be fine.
In my mind, a kingdom is; So many joys there, I discover. That it surpasses all other pleasures That which the earth provides or grows in kind:
For most of my life, I have been on a search trying to figure out who I am. Day after day, diligently looking I'm so anxious for someone to acknowledge me.
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