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Goals /gəʊlz/
by Dimitra Gkotosopoulou
I own my own goals.
They were born low,
they’ve grown alone,
opened a window
and flown to the unknown.
They follow the flow
walking through snow
with arrows and bow
withstanding each blow.
Though roads are blocked by stones,
ropes made of thorns
and foes lined in rows,
they seek the fate they chose.
Let hearts be broken,
false promises spoken
and past ghosts awoken;
these scars are just a token.
From every fall they rose,
they let all the wounds close,
they bloomed like a fresh rose
and so, the show still goes.
I own my own goals.
They were born low,
they’ve grown alone…
and finally they’re sitting on their throne.
Minds of Art 