• When I was young, I planted many
    Young seeds of all my dreams in my
    Field of Hopes.

    As I grew, they grew too - into tall lanky
    Trees, winding their hands to the sky -
    I lifted mine high.

    Until that day that the cold Reality came
    Sauntering in - blowing her withering
    Kisses upon my field.

    Slowly, each tree curled inward - shaken by the
    Molesting ardor of Reality - forming large
    Black stumps in their wake.

    Until my beautiful trees form a graveyard in
    My field of Hope - and there am I to
    Walk my lonely steps.

    Casting glances at was a once bright
    Future - to contemplate the complete destruction
    Of my soul.

    Tomorrow is not Mine.