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.
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