Broken Dreams

Dreams often break
on their way across the night
with a terrible shredding sound as
quiet tears brand the place
covering each dream’s face.

They mark the loss with small
rivers of grief while the torn dream
falls out of reach,
gasping its last frail breath
before a lonely death.

Dreams I once held like a shining thing,
like a glowing star just wished upon,
a sun promising a pristine day,
have gone away. I am left to grasp
illusive petals of dreams, like parts of a rose
dropped into the palm of my hand,
no longer a flower, but still leaving
a fragrance to make up for my loss

by Raynette Eitel

Comments (2)

A refined poetic imagination, Raynette. You may like to read my poem, Love And Lust. Thank you.
Lovely. Just a quite lement and comment. Read mine - Smoke From the Chimney - Adeline