oh,
busy life events,
that blow in and fill a tent,

of canvas,
with more wishes, than ways to entertain them.
my dusty wind blown whimsical wishes,

trampled by the heavier, well, Others
wishes, that bury mine,
they bring their own dirt,

to bury mine, doesn't hurt to put up a sign, painted "Here lies the dreams of..."
too bad mine, they wished to be
cremated, if theynever saw the light of day, nor came to fruition,

chased about place, but not caught or captured, but tumbled
around in the hay, the scarecrow way,
just kick the oil lamp over, or "the light unto my path" over,

and let the flames lick the pain of loss away.




©DWE012014