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Wednesday, July 03, 2019

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?
at

4 comments:

  1. Glen Filthie8:30 AM

    Not bad, TB.

    ReplyDelete
  2. LindaG5:59 PM

    That is a thought to ponder.

    A safe, blessed and happy 4th to you all, TB.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Toirdhealbheach Beucail7:21 PM

    Thank you Glen. Rather happy with this one.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Toirdhealbheach Beucail7:22 PM

    Thank you Linda! You as well!

    ReplyDelete

Comments are welcome (and necessary, for good conversation). If you could take the time to be kind and not practice profanity, it would be appreciated. Thanks for posting!