As she was walking back home,

her dead dreams appeared

as a snake, and the venom

that is now swimming her streams

were the splattered hopes of

yesterday, her form,

decaying on the grass, now

feeds the worms, just as it

once did her dreams.

~

The worms are now dead

and the seeds feed upon

that which was once alive and moving.

The shoot appears and the leaves

tussle for inches of the sun,

spreading the fragrance of their dreams,

for those with time, to marvel –

like her –

~

We live in a graveyard

of dreams and aspirations

but also a nursery of hope

and vision.

Pick a seed, or many seeds

and let it grow – the forest looks

much more colorful from

high above.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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