What will happen to our dreams when we’re gone?

What will happen to our dreams when we’re gone?

What will be left of yesterday’s yearnings?
When our bones are dust and our eyes are voids and we are dead and gone,
and our loves and lies, pains and pride are faded to the beyond,
when our histories are lost and our deeds forgotten,
our faults forgiven and our minds rotten.

What then?

What will happen to our dreams when we’re gone?
What of our words that fell like boulders
and our minds that shifted mountains,
schemes and ideas that grew, grew older
when there are no mouths to sound them?
will they fly upon the sighing wind?
will they dwell amongst the stars?
what of the dreams we dreamt
so long ago, did they fly, fly so far?

What of them?

What will happen to our dreams when we’re gone?
Eyes like windows to souls
that burnt, burnt like the sun.
They saw it all, the pain, the falsity, the joy, the hate.
The truth.

What of that?

Will they fade, fade away to nothing, will
our quests remain, remain unfinished, dead
souls reaching, reaching to the ends,
striving, striving in the time we’re given,
until our hopes give up and our heart gives in.

Will they leave us like our children and fly off into the distance, free at last.

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