She Had a Dream Ii

Taking a nap became super busy and hot What could become of the dream she got? Keeps coming back to hunting eyes' jot Viewing afar her possible lot Maybe or not would be as plot Or probably weird off frank guard's prank's shot Leaving an unforgettable experience's spot. Been there; usually great: days while at Rome Nigeria: how so hot; I realized when back home But She can be great like Rome if chrome Bringing about change in ohm Managing the resistance of gloam To giving new dawn priority and reckon to foam Illuminating night that long hid brightening dome. Then she would become her own very self And stop traveling the spirit like every elf Rather choose pleasure taking hold unto bookshelf Than picking fight with head's shelf How lovely it can be to be oneself! Of no fun beyond doubt, need be; detect it yourself She have done that, I am doing it as well myself. It would be awesome to have such killed, Though I am still much expectant and unskilled Cum her days in adventure by years drilled By will that fearlessness be instilled Without much headache she chilled And would enable enough experiences like she had fulfilled Which partake in the process of her true rebuild. Despite all, she loves him faithfully the more Such extent of no trace cum excitement explore Thrilling is moment's undefined pleasures encore At every meeting indoor Supposed hatred ignore Based on all heart had duly over time persistently labor Are growing marks no one else would be able to outscore. Though carrying the burden of the cross is painful, Yet keeps up with it for the afterwards are gainful But the story is definitely becoming really doubtful Meanwhile, it would be blissful... Cum fulfilment; dreams beautiful Her energy heightened with sense of humor so boastful Every blessed day's thought of it appears delightful. I wonder how the dream's narration made her a crier That solemn tears soaked her heart's beautiful attire Till the reflection couldn't hide away the flame of its fire With that, I need not to enquire What picture lies in her satire? It would rather become a poisonous flame's magnifier There I lay silently in order not by virtue of care, misfire. My mind embraces tears but signals need to be still, Jogging the weight of its possible effect downhill, If it would be seen through as a loving goodwill Not that I enjoyed the thrill, But truly sympathize the spill Then I employed fortune to accompany my quill To pen her solitude good enough an overflow refill. Now she comes again alive awake Crying till morning has night retake Soliloquizing yet voiceless lips shake How is dream so opaque! That she can't eat its cake Then ponder of what could be at stake Only if her dream's ocean turned lake Who would be the first to f*ck up? Young Mind or Old Heart's gallop Trying to have a smooth followup Of what both develop Before a sudden blowup Probably to be settled with cleanup Then pretends to have a fresh startup.