There’s a place where we grow old
A place where we share the same road
We all made it happening to their surprise
It’s all strange how we opened their eyes
We all came from something
Wherever the water’s running
We only made it this far to see where we are
We crashed through the walls even though they weren't thin
We saw everything around us that turned out to be a sin
We went to many places saw different faces
From across the sea to deep in outer space
We rose from the ground got chased up and down
Given the throne to wear the crown
We walked across a stage and then a bridge
We worked on our own to find our niche
We reached ten feet higher survived the fire
And the storms which made us survivors
About the Creator
Forest Green
Hi. I am a writer with some years of experiences, although I am still working out the progress in my work. I make different types of stories that I hope many will enjoy. I also appreciate tips, and would like my stories should be noticed.
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More stories from Forest Green and writers in Poets and other communities.
I Am a Prisoner who Dreams of Prisons
The dream always starts the same: I feel the cold bite of wind gnawing through clothes entirely inadequate to protect from the weather and I realize I am standing in line. Ahead of me and behind me are other inmates, identified by the burgundy scrubs we were issued upon arrival. I don't know where we're going.
By Kyle Cejka4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
That's all we can do is survive the best way we can looking on the bright side.
This was so optimistic! Loved your poem!