My Dreams Are Burnt Petals Of Ordinary Flowers

my dreams are burnt
petals of
ordinary flowers

the sun hurts
dries every last leaf
on the vine

if the rains come
it has no purpose but
to make the rest of these dying dreams
to rot

it is a fungus world
there is no space for
growing
new dreams

but i keep the seeds
again
and they all still know
that art of
waiting

forever lies
in the softness of each
inner core

time is hope
and there will always be a room
a niche
for another growth

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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