Of Dust and Dreams

A poem about love and loss.

Strolling through the lower quarter
I picked you a flower of vibrant colour.
Cerulean swirls over marble white,
and a shape that defied common image.

It was in that distance between you and I,
It did rot.
It faded, twisted and shrunk,
Before my very eyes until,
It was left unrecognizable.

Flowers speak of love,
but it is only now years later,
I see how astute that claim is,
Sitting in ashes and dust,
From a dream once picked.

- Anonymous.

Reviews

[Lily Mae]

I know this feeling all to well..xo