Memories of a Dead Dream

Memories of A Dead Dream
By Te’Kia Miller

Broken, tattered, battered

Here lie the remains of dreams scattered
In the rains they flow through gutters
Into puddles full of scorned stars
For these wings will never see flight

Dipped, clipped, and

From life’s rough hands
They did not handle with care
So why care
For what could have been the present?
That would have been a gift then
But here and now is settled
In the memories of a dead dream




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