(This poem was generated by the Three Things Challenge: Click on this post! )
My past is forever a brick of a wall
and forever it will stumble
with an exploding heavy boom
one by one, every bit will tumble.
My past is forever a family of fireflies
that dares to light up my eyes
with broken whistles and welts
all these nights, all these lies.
My past is a melody of a broken album
that is played with a heartbreaking strum
and with the tunes of disillusioned tears
that melt with the beat of each drum.
My past is a forgotten fantasy.
No one can hear the bouncing of balls
the ones we followed with a frolic
and our shrieking shouts and calls
that are forever gone
where the wall has been torn down
and each bright harmonizing smile
has turned into a frown
and a city
behind the cracked clouds.