I’m sure, once a cloud drifted through asleep on drafts of dreams, warmed by dangerous desert lands where the hungry ground eats clouds for life. But in that brief cool morning, when sun was kind and vicious lands asleep, the fog turned golden, alive in delight that the warm dream could come true.
The Worth of Dreams
Those who have reached the dream cry hope, while those who grow old in the gray light of poverty shake their heads. So shake me loose. Where is the middle ground? Or is this overcast life it? They say dreams are fickle, corrupting, even. As much to peel you back for spoils as to give … Continue reading The Worth of Dreams