Walking, slowly
through the yard,
broken, rusted objects
line the driveway, far
as I can see.
It seems, I’ve entered a graveyard,
where old things die,
items that once brought
so much joy, now
they are but junk.
Growing sad, I realize,
someone’s dreams lie there
in the ruins, rotting, waiting
to be revived, like
a phoenix, to live again.
Most are not reborn,
they are gone,
gone forever and
so are the
dreams.
Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share
My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004
Soon to come, Sleepless Nights
My Poetry at poemhunter.com
My Other Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
The World Outside My Window
This Side Of Midnight
Dan’s Room 2 Write
Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.
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