Broken Dreams

Broken dreams are
like flowers in the attic;
that eventually withers and wrinkles,
dwarfed from radiating a healthy glow.
They are like stale cookies in a jar of clay
marinating in forgetfulness,
collecting thick masses of dust
and baking in a pie crust of mold.

Feet in the sand

I like to strut on the beachfront,
right where all the action lies.
Looking out at the roaring waters,
watching the waves do back flips.

The scenery is so peaceful and serene…

A book in one hand.
A bottled water in the other.

I am right where I need to be,
all my worries are out fishing at sea.

I love to dip my feet in the sand,
my great attempt at maintaining my cool,
sitting under my yellow beach umbrella,
a shield from the blistering sun.

Nothing can shatter my zone right now.
My mind is out of this world at ease.