Dreams fall apart
In my hands
Seep through my fingers
Into the cracks
Through the floor
And into the river
Of tears and sweat
Flowing down the canyons
Of the aged face where
Dead dreams rot and fester
Un-lived, unrealised, gone
Then turn to bitter dust
Carried by the winds
Across the valleys
Over the mountain ridges
Only to succumb and lodge
Deep within the walls
Of my crumbling house
The rickety shanty
That stands alone
At the edge of the woods
A mirage on the horizon
Beaten and battered
By the cruel fist of Time.

© 2017 Erna G.

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