January 30, 2018
By seanjung BRONZE, Santa Monica, California
seanjung BRONZE, Santa Monica, California
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I don't know

while my tiny body sleeping

in the starry night


one side

desire of

tearing these papers

who owned no back

cause he seemed half-black



I'm sorry for

not knowing

who to aim

what to kill and

where to die


isn't owning insomnia

the evidence of livings?

well I am still rolling time

who sat his butt on my desk


I can tear these papers?

but look

sharp blood-red lines

connects the throne

and look 

spark in the end


like a chopped off neck

of a star


'He became legend soon he died'


sudden sleepiness push me

from the backside

onto the berth

but no body

would ever notice

curiosity of the dream sneaking into

taut veins and

they will soon

pierce out this evil night

The author's comments:

Couldn't sleep at night writing poems, and it got me questioning about my future career. Am I actually going to continue writing poems, giving up my time? What will this give me?(Definately not money and the fame) 


Overall, I tried to express one's internal conflict between dream and the reality, and whether they should compromise with it or not.

I tried to express the passion of 'eighteen' throught out the poem


However, I felt like it wasn't me who was questioning myself, maybe devil.


I tried to end it with the happy ending to indicate that I in the poem would not give up my dream and passion.

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