Are we only the dreams of death?

Just players on an eternal screen?

I have to believe our lives hold some significance

Else what's the use of having ever been?

The haunting notes of a melody

The gut-wrenching feel inspired in me

Cannot be mere fabrication

We must move on from here

Reborn, if only on the wind

Or in the dreams of children

I can still feel those who have gone ahead

In the grass on a dewy lawn

Or in the stones I hold as I walk

Smell the lilacs in the evening breeze

Or the ozone right before the storm

Stop to listen to them whispering

Still here, still here

Nothing ever dies

We are not the dreams of death

Nor the words of the storyteller

Not pictures drawn in sand

Only here until the tides roll in

We are everlasting

� 2005-2006

Daphne L. Blankenship

All Rights Reserved