© 2016 Steve King
All rights reserved
Hidden far within the folds
of each inviting new design,
clings a remnant of some foregone wish.
I will never be so certain
of what memory may hold,
or of how old yearnings were dismissed
in passages to what is now, and here;
nor how the things that conjured every dream
were always in the careless moment sold.
Yet I believe there bides among
these mysteries of all I am,
some inkling of how distant suns
might cast their fires upon new dawns.
So not for nothing have we lived,
though every story won’t be told;
and while we strive to move beyond,
and seize all things each day may give,
I won’t forsake old dreams too soon undone,nor cede new dreaming only to the young.
A new poem for Imaginary Gardens...
and the d'Verse open link