reign

Could this be a game
could this be a show?
Left with these ques­tions
yet none re­al­ly know.
These things I have heard
these things I have seen,
How cer­tain are you
that this isn’t a dream?

For how does one han­dle
what’s locked in their head?
The peo­ple they’ve lost
the tears they have shed?
The pain they’ve en­dured
the trou­bles they’ve faced,
The sor­row they’ve fought
the free­dom they’ve chased?

These mem­o­ries haunt
from deep in our mind,
Of­ten we watch them
and they keep us blind.
En­gulfed in our past
our loss­es, our pain;
Yet still, in the end,
it all stays the same.

We’re stuck sit­ting here
adrift in our past,
Ig­nor­ing this world
that won’t al­ways last.
We’re walk­ing away
suc­cumb­ing to trance,
Con­scious­ly void­ing
what could be our chance.

Our chance to be free
to live and let go,
Our shot to be more
than this act or this show.
Our mo­ment to prove
we can out­last the pain,
For this is our life
and again we shall reign.

—kay­la walk­er

Flom­mist Kay­la Walk­er is just a sim­ple poet who is fas­ci­nat­ed by rhyme, us­ing it as a voice to speak for the girl lost in her own mind. Copy­right © 2017 Kay­la Walk­er.

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

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