Dreams Die

Dreams die.

Wax melting off feathered wings,

collapsing shaft at a mine of riches,

the hand that can no longer act.

Dreams fall.

Plunging into the river of life

bones tumbling,

particles drifting downward.

Buried beneath the weight of life,

do they become fossilized remnants

like the Thunder Lizards of Old,

to inspire and amaze?

Or simply the detritus of being,

dissolving,

leaving nothing but rot

in their wake?