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 SEEDS OF GROWTH by Pam

VISIONS



Visions,
behind closed doors of sleep
Like some shattered mirrors we keep
tucked away; sharp, splintered shards
More painful that the wakening hours
of day we reap.

Is this the plague inside of man
that tempts his works and slight of hand
Changing carbon dust to stones;
diamond mines and vaults of bones,

Immortal dreams of steel to steal?
(as if his blood and flesh were real!)

Yet, finally, when his days grow old
his visions purged of weighty gold
And he lay naked in the Earth
his Maker's dust alone
Rebirth!







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