There was a dream I once held I my hands
It always belonged to me.
Somewhere along the way it slipped from my hands
It slept soundly for years, hidden from view
Its deep swollen cries ignored
It began to whisper in the lingering moments of evening
Breaking through a thicket of lies and broken pieces
It slowly become a lion’s roar
The sound was deafening
The dream is on fire, blazing vehemently
The crackle and incessant hiss demands to be heard
There was a dream. It is now. It is alive.