Are they eternal as the souls that gave them thought?
Dreams are born in hope and imagination.
Theirs is a shadow life in deep-set caverns of the heart,
Glimpsing pure light only in moments of purest hope.
Sometimes, dreams come true,
And they are the happiest dreams of all.
No longer sentenced to continue the death march,
They are proudly paraded as the fruition of expectation.
But what of those dreams that can never be?
Where do they go to die?