Fear of the future
Learn more about other poetry terms
At thirteen
my heart had never been broken
I was still dreaming big dreams
And I was still outspoken
I sided with hope
having no concept of doubt
The figures of stone watch over us with vigilance.
The songbirds sing our praises in their molto vivace.
The wildflowers form a carpet underneath our feet.
It is midnight again and I don’t know how to last another minute.
I crush my head between my hands and try to squeeze them out,
Should I call them nightmares?
Should I call them dreams?
