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What becomes of a silent dream,
When the speaker no longer sees a thing,
Show me a world of wonder where eyes are aflame.

Who dares lose a voice,
To even their own doubt,
As the clock winds down for all,

Each word is chocked out,
Of bored and tired throats,
Or pained fingers that say nothing at all.

A million times,
One must question the world,
If they dream to be heard at all.

Some will live forever,
As their dreams march on,
Be it in infamy or other arcs.

A young child will scream,
Outwards to the heavens and Lord on high,
A dream and will that will change temper in the age.

Not all goals,
Are ones measured,
In the glitter of gold.

Give me your heart,
Once my words do earn,
Mastery of emotion and pen.

For as said before,
I dream to understand Man,
And empower happiness because I can.

Thus all twitches of loss,
When the pen goes mute,
Are brought deep into thought.

To ponder each stance,
And better learn self,
From wounds and from cocoons.

Dream and Dream,
One can do so without action,
And never grow into a final stage.

So do and show,
As the gate does grow,
To the endless goals.
Personal reminder of sorts
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Submitted on
April 7, 2012
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