On the rise of dawnthe dreams wake and
flame like congratulated
tropical grasslands of
the hot summer.
And the winds blow
to add fervor to the
tongues of flames of
our rageful blazing
dreams not to die away.
But when we don't
figure out the magnitude
and the length of a stride
we can move ahead
carried by the dreams they die.
So we remain seated
next to the graves of our
dead dreams sorrowfully
drowning in tears wishing
the earth would somehow backtrack.
But the earth moves on
with no intention of
coming back and that's
when every thin ray of cloud left
disappears into nothingness.
We have to rise up
when the earth has swallowed the graves of our buried dreams
and forget the pain
but learn so we don't let the next dreams die.
