Big Dream

I had this big dream
And we all know
What happens most of the time
With big dreams

I keep dreaming to myself
I’ll put all my poems together
And put them in a nice big book
Old fashioned, hardcover, great binding
No dust cover needed
But engraved in gold type
With the title of the book
And my name in modest letters
At the bottom
Maybe 500 hundred of them
Signing them all
Until someone or some occasion
In posterity discovers them
And a spark catches fire
And a fire makes a blaze
And the children of tomorrow
Will drink it up these poems like
A cup of cool water
After burning from the inside
For untold days
And those 500 copies make someone
Or many someone’s
A small fortune

But in the end
Its nothing but dust
Nothing but ash
Who will ever remember
One word of my poems
Or anyone else’s
After a hundred thousand years
What difference does
Any of it make
It’s commendable to have kept trying
For any period at all

Perhaps delusional
We don’t know yet
But commendable

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