A musing on the fragility of dreams. Tell me what you think.
Spun Glass Unicorns and Dream Dust.
Dreams are as spun glass;
Inescapably and incredibly fragile.
They must be handled with extreme caution,
Lest they evaporate at the first careless touch;
Silvered shards scattered across the ancient countertop.
And even if these fragile figurines
In the shapes of unicorns and roses,
Can endure the long years,
Many waste away, on the dusty shelf
Darkened by chances untaken, tainted by regret,
Locked behind a glass much stronger then itself,
Placed under lock and key,
Collecting particles until forgotten,
As if they never existed at all.
These glass figures are as useless to the owner as the real ones,
Forgotten dreams, locked away in the heart,
Are just as bad as broken ones,
If not worse.
For these unfulfilled ones belong to cowards,
Those too afraid to take a chance,
Lest these priceless things break,
Or… somehow come true.
For when these wishes come true,
They become worth a million times more,
And become a million times more breakable,
Then the unfulfilled fantasy they had before.
They are priceless, a dream come true.
But is it worth it…
To fulfill that one tiny dream.
To take that risk…
To risk loosing everything that you have
For something that might be.
No, safer to let it sit there,
Collecting years and dust
For within the tiny body,
Of this spun glass unicorn lies
And loss unimaginable,
And infinite despair,
The possibility to make it or break it,
Rack or ruin,
Sink or swim.
Within this fragile glass- endless possibilities.