Tethered Dreams

When I crumble, it’s to these I hold;

they remain strong and stead fast.

 

If I was to fall into a slumber, it is to

they that I’d return. Dreams!

 

How wonderful to have you, for

if not where would be I be, Christ what if?

 

If I were without you, sweet beautiful dreams

then for sure, I may well die.

 

As dreams are life.

They are what hope is.

 

Floating effervescently, they are as a

dove; graceful, and yet broken-winged

 

they would be surely ruined. A bird

whose wings cannot be mended. That

 

irreparable nature cannot

be forgotten. If you allow your dreams to fly

 

then to yourself they must be tethered; and hold

tight they must, as by the sun’s rays they will burn fast.

 

It is as with Icarus, who was foolish, and to

you? His lesson: dreams,

 

they can be broken. For

what then is their purpose? When

 

like a dove, your dreams

bring you hope and beauty; yet in a flutter go,

 

escaping quickly on the breeze, should life

allow so. How is

 

such an animal to be forgotten? So sad, like a

once fruitful tree, now left barren.

 

Alone. Withering in its field.

So sad, if all dreams were to be frozen;

 

buried deep, sorrowfully left, with

nothing solid left to hold. Just crisp white snow.

 

Embed from Getty Images

 

A golden shovel poem attempt, in association with NaPoWriMo.Β 

Poem used: “Dreams” by Langston Hughes.

 

 

 

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