This Dream Didn't Come True

My friend's sole lovely dream...
Whisper pulls at the art
Tacked to the wall of an attic room
Shredded and covered in dust
It only weeps for the maker
Or a lost admirer to return
And take it off its nail hanging
So sadly, restore it to splendor
Put in a place for all to see
Let it proudly sit while they come
To find answers and meaning,
A purpose in this lonely creation
Never asked for more than that,
Nothing more than understanding.

Return to the days of a canvas
Singing in praise of its master
As a single loving stroke of colour
Added each evening after long
Contemplations. Each with a story
To tell, each filled with truth
And harmonious bits of caring
It was going to belong to the world
Someday it would spread its joy
To all who saw it there
An image took form in patience
And wings, and features called out
At the moment of creation,
The moment of completion.

Dreams don't always come true.
Its master failed, and passed
Uncouth fools throwing the canvas
In a hidden place of darkness
None given the gift of sight
Only tragic, uncared for blindness
The paint fades each day without
One to appreciate the intended bliss
A weeping soul lost in a grave
None to bring a legacy to life
None to restore happiness
To a ruined piece of art...
Otherwise known as useless trash
Dreams don't always come true.