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With Crumbled Dreams

Updated on August 5, 2016
Gypsy Rose Lee profile image

I'm a writer, a poet, a dreamer. Born and raised in New York City. I live in the suburbs of Riga, Latvia with my hubby, Martin and cat Sid.

Crumbled dreams are what make us ache,

are what make us blue.

How can you go on in this life?

If everything you longed for -

lies like broken crockery at your feet.

Crumbled dreams are what hurt the most.

How can you go on?

When you ache for a love you can’t have.

There has to be a spark,

to make it all work

and start the embers glowing.

Shards of crumbled dreams just lay on the ground

and muddy water streams,

trickle among crushed rose petals -

that have been trampled on by uncaring feet.

While the sparks of the fire

just smolder and won’t burn,

crumbled dreams like so many nightmares,

come to haunt you in the night,

like phantom specters,

on skeleton horses -

riding through dark night skies.

Shadows hide the moon

and dark clouds flash with lightning,

while quiet rumbles echo.

Crumbled dreams too many of them,

destroy the love you hold,

like so many prayers and wishes -

left unanswered.

If only crumbled dreams,

could be mended again

and the nightmares chased away,

by the dawning of a new day,

to find a new way,

to dream again.

Gathering souvenirs,

from crumbled dreams,

memories to last for a lifetime.

Searching for a new beginning,

a love that will last forever –

which you can always treasure.

© 2016 Gypsy Rose Lee


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    • billybuc profile image

      Bill Holland 10 months ago from Olympia, WA

      We are so fragile, with our dreams, and our broken dreams, and our new dreams, only to have them broken. It's a wonder more people don't just curl up in a ball and such their thumbs permanently.

      Anyway, as you know, I love your poetry. Happy Weekend to you!

    • manatita44 profile image

      manatita44 10 months ago from london

      So many dreams crumble, yes. I do empathise. Still, some are unreal in the sense that one forgets that all things are ephemeral; transitory....fleeting, except the one Reality...the Higher Love. Touching poem.

    • Jodah profile image

      John Hansen 10 months ago from Queensland Australia

      Rasma, I hate it when dreams crumble, but you learn to just pick up the pieces and move on. Great poetry with vivid descriptions.

    • profile image

      Surabhi Kaura 10 months ago

      Yes, they do crumble. But there's always a Divine Light to uplift us once again. Interesting poem with some harsh realities of life.

    • Vellur profile image

      Nithya Venkat 10 months ago from Dubai

      A beautiful poem about dreams with an inspiring positive message, we can always pick up the pieces and go on.

    • teaches12345 profile image

      Dianna Mendez 10 months ago

      It's the broken pieces that we pick up and mend for a better future. Lovely thoughts, some sad, but lot of hope at the end.

    • Gypsy Rose Lee profile image

      Gypsy Rose Lee 10 months ago from Riga, Latvia

      Thank you Bill. Glad you enjoyed this.

      Thank you Manatita.

      Thank you Jodah. Yes, you just have to go forward.

      Thank you Surabhi. Not always can love be lucky.

      Thank you Vellur.

      Thank you Dianna. There must always be hope.

    • tirelesstraveler profile image

      Judy Specht 10 months ago from California

      Broken pottery seems so hopeless, but can rise again and be turned into beautiful things and useful things. Wonderful.

    • Gypsy Rose Lee profile image

      Gypsy Rose Lee 10 months ago from Riga, Latvia

      Thank you Judy

    • bravewarrior profile image

      Shauna L Bowling 10 months ago from Central Florida

      Rasma, I think it's so cool that you can build a poetic story around a song title. Or is it the other way around?

    • Gypsy Rose Lee profile image

      Gypsy Rose Lee 10 months ago from Riga, Latvia

      No my inspiration very often comes from songs Shauna. It's an interesting process. I might be working on something completely different while listening to music. Suddenly a song makes me just conjure up words and before I know it a poem has been born.

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