She sits silent, somber, solitary,
hides her heart in the monastery
and tells herself the same old lie.
That she’d done all she could do,
if she repeats it, it’ll sound true,
that sometimes some dreams do die.
Outside six feet under the cold earth,
all those dreams she once gave birth,
are all arisen and begin to stir.
If she won’t walk to them,
then it’s down to them again,
all her “dead” dreams will come to her.
Dead from London, Canada and New York,
convene and towards her all will walk,
skeleton Shakespeare and a zombie Queen.
Plus a mountie mummy monster naturally
and also a lithe lich Lady Liberty,
undead from everywhere she did dream.
At night a rainbow still fills the sky,
casts a strange light on her dream guy
shambling towards her bones, heart and all.
Hopes she will still let him in,
despite his age and lack of skin,
on his corpse guitar he strums Wonderwall.
All others in the horde join in the song,
raise their voices and then groan along.
Mournful miracles come to remind they exist.
The sky opens filled with her first snow
as the cold chorus of hope does grow,
weaving magic hard for her to resist.
Although she tried hard to hide,
despite herself she looks outside,
sees singing dreams were waiting all the while.
Finding feet she runs to claim dreams back
and in turn give them all that they lack
and she does so with but a single smile.
Seeing she’s ready to cast aside her pain,
to try once more and hope again,
all her dreams are filled with living light.
Made of magic, miracles and hope,
she finds new strength to cope
and it all happened on one wonderful night.
Dreams don’t die – it only seems so now and then.
If you lose hope, please ask; together we’ll find it again.
Copyright © 2015 Philip Craddock. All rights reserved.