Golden Dreams

I think of gold,

and lilac feathers;

the more I grow old

and feel heart’s rust

run down hallow letters.


The older I get,

the harder it gets,

and farther it seems

that I once held such dreams.


Dreams.

Intangible bliss

I now reminisce

of illusions once real

and dreams once unveiled,

but now dreams again.


I think of all those

happy, pretty things:

the birds and the trees,

and bluebirds that sing.

All now dreams, in reality;

but one day, soon, gone;

as forever we dream on.


All dreams in the end

that some lucky held.

Now gone,

but dreams never end.

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3 thoughts on “Golden Dreams

    • Thanks! I remember when I wrote this – on a NYC bus of all places… Guess it validates my advice to ALWAYS carry a pocket notebook on you.

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