Dream

Dream

By Ozzashafa17

When I Was a Child

When I was young, my dreams ran wild,

A wishful heart, a hopeful child.

I thought that dreams would bloom with ease

Just stardust, fire, and youthful breeze.

I never knew they came with cost,

With sleepless nights and moments lost.

But now at nineteen, I have learned:

Each dream is fought for, not just yearned.

I’ve poured my soul, my flame, my breath,

Endured the ache, embraced near-death.

My hands have bled, my voice grown still,

My spirit shaped by iron will.

Though worn and hollow, I still stand,

With quiet faith and trembling hand.

For one truth lights my darkest fight:

No dream is real without the night.