Dreams

What are dreams made of?

Are they made of water, meant to drown us in hope and despair, and then evaporate over time?

Are they made of sand, built into lofty castles, only to be dashed away by the surf, or blown away in the wind?

Are dreams made of clouds, that build up into thunderstorms that crash and flash and tear away at the very foundation of our rational, only to dissipate to nothing; to be pulled into wisps that linger only in the most distant region of the sky?

Are they made of flowers, that look pretty and smell good, but wither and die no matter how much care is put into them?

Are dreams made of bubbles, that float above your head as you stretch your arms high to reach for them, only to have them pop at the faintest touch?

Are any dreams made of diamonds, that glisten and glitter and, despite some flaws, are considered priceless by many? Dreams that can never be broken; that will live forever?

Are there dreams that are like wild stallions, that run free in the wide-open lands of your mind, that can be caught and tamed but still hold that spirit?

Are there any dreams that rest on the tails of shooting stars, go up with the smoke of blown-out birthday candles, are made at 11:11, or fly on coins into wishing wells? Dreams that are caught by the invisible hand that holds the power to make them come true?

What are dreams made of?

Are they made of unicorns, pixy dust, fairies, and other such silly things?

Or are they made of water and air and earth, the essence of our very being, which we could never live without, even if we tried?

What are dreams made of?