Death of a dream— Now all I see is ashes, The burned-out remains of memories past. I pour the ashes into the sea, And watch them scatter, wild and free. For dreams, like wind, can never stay— Gone with the wind, they've slipped away. Stealthily like teardrops in the rain. Death of a dream, Unlikely, it seemed. But how could it not be? I killed this dream— My grip, my need to shape its course, Squeezed the life from its fragile source. For dreams, like seeds, when planted, need time To root, to grow, to take on a life of their own. And yet I held on, too tightly, too close, Killing the dream I once cherished the most.