“When Dreams Become Ghosts”

 

We planted tomorrows in the soil of today,
Watered them with faith, prayed they'd stay.
Each dream was a seed, tender and bright,
Promising blossoms beneath the moonlight.

But storms came early, and roots gave way,
The garden we loved began to decay.
I walk through rows of what should have grown,
Touching the silence where life had shone.

I grieve the laughter that never arrived,
The victories lost, the hopes that died.
I grieve the versions of me I'll never meet,
The paths erased beneath my feet.

It hurts like winter in the marrow of bone,
A hollow ache that whispers alone.
I rage at the sky, I curse the rain,
I cradle the shards of a broken frame.

Yet in the rubble, a quiet truth appears:
Even shattered dreams can water new years.
The soil remembers, the earth still breathes,
Life hums softly beneath the leaves.

So I lay my grief like petals on stone,
Honor the ghosts, then let them roam.
For endings are roots of beginnings untold,
And ashes can birth a field of gold.

I do not forget—I carry the flame,
But I walk toward dawn with a different name.
Hope is a seed that survives the frost,
And love is the compass when dreams are lost.