by Stephanie Montalti
Silently drifting farther and deeper,
My mind reaches and clings onto the past.
It stores away tiny sparks, the keeper,
Whose collections are so bitter and vast.
It delves into fantasies, exploring,
Hidden wishes in the dark of the night.
Shadows of death, I begin imploring,
What do visions mean and what is my fight?
My mind grows weary and begins to stray.
At last, it starts to twirl around new love,
Bringing smiles, laughter, and hopes to play.
Why does this concept seem to climb above,
The darkest of thoughts, and lay them to rest?
Maybe love is a dream, which proves the best.
