Dragging your bike down the shorefront,
Is that what you dreamed of?
Is this what you dreamed of?

Your feet torn and rotten,
I’ll wash all the rain off,
And wipe all the pain off.

Should we stay and weather the storm,
Or will the God’s send us running?

We await freedom through every door,
But the guards see us coming.

Watching them capsize and struggle,
Is that what you dream of?
Is this what you dream of?

Your conscience: an endless tunnel,
I fight to escape from,
I cannot escape from.

And you ask me questions of love,
But my answers are hollow,

We’re surrounded; we can’t turn and run,
In our misfortune you wallow.

And every picture we paint,
Is just a means of escape,
And all the others look on,
And ask, “What is there to escape from?”

Lighting the city on fire,
It’s this you imagined.
Isn’t that tragic?

The colours will take you higher,
But stop all the traffic,
Let’s stop all the traffic.

You put the whole world on hold,
Is it really worth the wait?

All our possessions; we sold,
Is it really worth the pain?
I'm here to help

Quote by Jimbleton
ok, as usual pit is being very unhelpful except andychalmers, so im gonna go post this someplace else

And a master of storytelling...

Quote by Jackolas
andychalmers102, that story is awesome.
I like the general sound of your poem. Third stanza should just read 'gods' because it is plural. The changes in imagery confuse me a bit and I feel like you should keep your metaphors a bit more consistent with one theme. I really like the lines "And you ask me questions of love, but my answers are hollow".
not going viral

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