Sitting here with jealousy,
with a heart that beats.
A clock that is forever ticking.
The bomb that's about to explode.
What the world holds.
The sea where all have sunk.
These hidden things,
a world unknown,
but a calling from the voices,
get up sing.
But it's no good so out of tune.
Then it's seen in their hair,
the crown you wish to wear.
Everything you thought was meant to be, leaves you in despair.
Working for these things,
but losing it all on each bid.
So was it really born there,
or was it a allusion?
This very dreaming we are living,
will it set the world ablaze,or leave it staring.
Are we nothing, but questions waiting to be answered,
or forever be wondering?
That the white paper filled with words is your wish,
your very desire,
but it seems,
that the only thing they get out of it is the scribbles of the writer.
While you are a crumpled piece of paper that gets thrown away.
So are we forever hoping that what's imaginary will become reality,
or just maybe in our lifetimes the goal will be reached?
That we can also be seen.