Organic Dreams

Where would dreams grow

If they could not be bought?

Would they root in the fertile loam

Of a bored imagination?

Or perhaps there’d be no dreams.

And all the world would fast;

And long would be the days

When breaths came calm and slow.

Maybe still there would be hope.

Prone to decompose I’m sure,

For it will be organic, pure—

And unpreserved by fear.

Such noble wishes as these make

I wonder whether they are mine—

Or simply just some cud

Chewed up from my own feed?

Nevertheless and everthemore,

I dream of dreams for their own sake.

For love conceived immaculately,

Bereft of loneliness, dependency.

For hope that’s born without its twin,

That like the sun may foster life.

For peace that is not plundered from

Faceless suffering worlds away.

And most of all, I pray for days

When dreams cannot be sold.