Is your work ever truly finished? I don’t believe so. We always feel that we could have changed something to make it just that little bit better. This poem I feel will forever be a work in progress!

Playing in their heads.

Forging, forming, their own

opinions. Exploring worlds of endless

possibilities.

To realise, its not their own.

Getting lost

in the wonders of others

while their own dreams crumble and crash.

Forced to turn back, retrace steps

but always in the eyes of others, failing

to crave an original path

in a land of no imagination.

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