Paris
Old money home,
white curtains drawn,
shadow of the moon
bringing the violin back in tune.
I open the diary,
look at the old pages,
the desperate wishes.
Now I live.
To walk on the streets,
the fashion,
old luxury on my body,
the rich stock of scent,
the exclusive watch on my wrist,
power, confidence in my fist.
The glowing tower at night.
I dance, I make a wish, I cry, I live—
the life my old version always needed.
To experience the city of dreams,
as a niche class of society,
champagne in the backseat,
returning to the palace I built.
Alarms came alive.
Reality hits.
Oh, this dream,
I badly wanna live.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
