Broken Dreams
Shards of broken dreams cascade before me
As pottery, dashed upon the stone
In my heart I know that I have killed them
As the dreams we have do not die alone
They must be sown in fertile fields of promise
Nurtured until they dare to bloom anew
Their fragrance to be savored by believers
Gathered once again as dreamers do
I am free, free to dream again
Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2012
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