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Dreams are seeds,

That grow into hope.

Hope is a tree,

Surrounded by weeds.

Anger is the axe,

That blindly hacks and hacks.

Regret is the sound,

Of Hope hitting the ground.

Sorrow’s the stump

Whose rootsweaken androt.

Yet still, Hope lives.

it stays as a log,

With ripe buds on its boughs.

Time is the knife

Steadily sculpting the wood

Promise is a partial boat,

Waiting on the coast.

Deceit is the sea

It steals the desolate Dream….

…That, is the truth

It’s always the same.

I’m sorry to say,

Dreams don’t come true,

Hope’s buds never bloom,

Promises are seldom kept;

And all that remains

Are the years you have left

You wasted the best

And all you gained

From your life-long quest

Is the Stump,clad inweeds

where you sit and regret,

The Splinters, of the fallen tree,

now weave a vulture’s nest.

And an empty canoe,

Sailingoneternity.

Yet one moreseeds

lost to sea.