Glinting sparks of tide-washed beaches,
Shimmering
Like forgotten dreams
Lost in the blackness of the soul.
Nietzche said 'God is dead.'
Well so is hope.
So is peace.
But so not are dreams.
They tantalize and jade,
Elusive,
Like an indigo rose
Born of heart and star.
Soft caress of love and hate,
Loss and bliss and pineapples,
Jealous victories and inconsequential green beans,
Stubbed toes,
Stinging and red,
Indifferent, yet awakened with each
Hard step.
Fading and surmounting each other;
Wiggly lines,
Scuffed as they are left behind.