We were only seventeen, looking at the world with blinders
We have it in each of us, dreams, passion, that will always be dear
But we knew back then, we can never turn the page
So how can we be sure, in adulthood we would never change?
It's money before dreams
It's the wrong turn of happiness that we chase
We might go crazy over a man or a women
Or a company, or a possesion, it can be simply a lion's den
In this age of seventeen
We are young, wild, not truly free, but when are we really?
In this age of seventeen,
Our passion always rekindle, but when did we forgot this handle?
YOU ARE READING
One Hundred Fifty
RandomFifty, Fifty, Fifty A writing challenge for myself is to create fifty poems, fifty essays, and fifty one-shot stories, every single prekeng day to make it a hundred and fifty days of honing my skills and giving sparks to my interest. Here's the deal...
