The Dreamer Died

In the blanket of darkness
When all I see is this crazy mess
When my feet wobble at my weight
And my spine can’t hold me straight
When the stench of this pigsty
Swamps my pillow with self-pity
I think of the dreamer I used to be
The one who thought the world wasn’t complete without me
The one who conversed with destiny and sealed his own fate
The one whose feet walked on hot coal,
But still had eyes fixed on gold
The one who shredded impossibilities
And used the shreds to weave possibilities
The one now dead

 

 

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