Poem a Day: Dreams

Dreams are born
in clouds that march
to cover the burning sun
before it conquers us;

born in the scars of furrows
slashed from the breast of earth–
scars we plant our hopes in.

Dreams are hard, hardy, holding fast.
Growing great and strong
in dry dying earth.

Dreams beckon when we are blinded
by our own foolish fumblings
or dirt spat into our eyes.

Thirsty minds can drain a cask
of dreams, settled deep for such a day.