The Light at the end - Poetry
Dreams are many,
That remain untold.
Fewer still are the ones,
That remain unrealized.
Hiding the shyness,
Pretending to be active.
The tree rose,
To meet the sun in the sky.
The lovely smell of food,
Lured them in to a box.
Kept active by the roots,
That seek refreshments.
Is it any less,
when they seek what they do?
How soon and how near,
Are these dreams of theirs?
The cold seeping in,
Digging into the heart.
Tuggin away a little at the soul,
Waiting to come undone.
The strawberry fields,
Reminded that nothing needed,
To be ever spoken about.