I Often Wonder Where Dead Dreams Go

Dreamcatcher in the night sky | Dream catcher

I often wonder where dead dreams go.

Is there a graveyard

for broken hopes?

dark in gloom;

dank with tears;

where despair screams;

and tempests are born.

Or is there a city up high ?

With row houses;

picket fences and

verdant greens.

Where Seraphim sing,

bees buzz

and fireflies glow.

Do dreams there take up residence?

In another’s eyes

staring at butterflies on a

whirling fan.

And work their way

through another hand.

Scribbled down

in cursive type,

with felt-tip underscores.

I would like to believe,

there is no graveyard of broken dreams.

Only blue skies and verdant lands,

where dream catchers

wait and watch;

catch and patch;

in painted rainbows

or doodled sand.

I would like to believe,

they bring joy when they land.

Propelling the dreamer

out of the door

to give them chase,

and bring them grace.

©Vasudha Chandna Gulati

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