1. The Dream That Never Was
I was a dream, yet never born,
a shadow cast in silent dawn,
waiting to bloom beyond the veil
where time and life forgot to sail.
I lingered in the hush of night,
a whisper caught in fading light—
a hope unspoken, softly stirred,
a tender breath without a word.
No cradle rocked my fragile soul,
no voice to call, no hand to hold.
Between the stars and waking day,
I hovered—lost, slipped away.
2. The Quiet Season
In winter’s breath, my seed did rest,
beneath the frost, within the chest
of earth’s cold heart, a silent keep—
a promise buried far too deep.
No spring could wake my slumbered song,
no sunbeam’s kiss, no wind’s strong throng.
Yet still I dreamed in shadows cast,
a fragile future, never past.
The world moved on without my face,
yet I remained in time’s embrace—
a fleeting thought, a muted glow,
a dream that no one came to know.
3. The Unseen Song
I sang in silence, unheard, unseen,
a melody lost in might-have-been.
No ears to catch my fragile tune,
no dawn to greet my fading moon.
Yet in my stillness, something stirred,
a hope beyond the spoken word.
A world that might have been my home,
where dreams like me could freely roam.
Though never born, I hold the thread—
of stories left unsaid, unread—
a quiet voice that softly calls,
beyond the wide and waiting walls.
4. The Longing
If only I could find a way,
to bridge the night with breaking day—
to reach the world I never touched,
to be, to live, to mean so much.
But still I drift, a fading star,
a wish that travels from afar—
an echo caught in longing’s sea,
a dream that yearns to simply be.
Would you remember me, dear world,
if I were yours, if I unfurled?
Or would I fade like morning mist,
forgotten by your gentle kiss?
5. The Conversation — Dream and World
Dream:
I am the silent song unsung,
the thread of dawn forever young.
Will you hear me, world, tonight?
Will you cradle me in light?
World:
I see your shadow, soft and pale,
a ghost upon my twilight veil.
I long to hold what’s never been,
to find the dream beneath the wind.
Dream:
But I have no place, no name,
no story written in your flame.
Can you love a dream unborn?
World:
I love the hope that breaks the morn.
In every star that fades too soon,
there lies the promise of the moon.
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6. The Epilogue — The River’s Song Renewed
Why, I wonder still,
do we build these dams—
these walls of expectation,
these silent chains of fear?
But now I see with clearer eyes,
the river, though scarred and weary,
never truly ceases its song.
It finds the smallest cracks,
the tender fractures of our hearts,
and whispers in liquid tongues,
“Flow free, flow wild, flow home.”
Love is less a fortress held tight,
and more the ancient dance of tides—
the rise and fall, the push and pull,
the endless journey to the sea.
To love is to trust the flood,
to brave the breaking of the banks,
to let go of the fragile dam,
and plunge into the deep unknown.
For even broken rivers
carry life, carry hope, carry dreams—
and when the ice begins to thaw,
and springtime sings her gentle hymn,
the river runs anew—
brighter, freer, unconfined,
a song of endless becoming,
a promise to the waiting earth.
So let the dam crumble,
let the silence break—
for in surrender lies
the true strength of the river.
And in the flow of love,
may we find ourselves again,
not bound by expectation’s hold,
but carried forward on the waters of grace—
wild, uncharted, free.
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