Dreams are made of porcelain
Time and space is wearing thin
Lay dusty in my mind's cabinet
With memories long torn and rent
Are the skeletons of experience
The poems lacking a cadence
Countless senseless actions
My old, belated passions
Locked in cobwebbed caskets
Rotten fruit in broken baskets
To which only I possess the key
Empty dreams and rusty memories.
I wrote this poem while chatting with a bunch of people online. It wasn't one of my 'run off to the forest and recieve inspiration from the scents of sylvan surroundings'. Haha. It's supposed to be shaped somehow like a keyhole, but I have a feeling I didn't quite reach my mark with that one. Nevertheless, it captures my meaning...broken dreams and empty memories. And I keep on dreaming, and I keep on storing memories.
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