After the Dream? When the hand of reality embraces a slumbering mind, A mental realm is left by a self made god, An engineered monarch unconsciously abandons their throne, And an artist departs a canvas painted with the colors of their heart, To where does a dream go? What happens to a dream when its purpose is served? After its kindness or cruelty is spent on ones psyche, And its point is made and message read, Does it die without its point of origin? Can it survive bereft of the hand that fed it, gave it meaning? If a reverie does wither when its time is due, Where does it go to rest, and rot? Maybe they go where the rest of our convictions go, To being ignored because they seem too unsafe or bizarre. Then again, maybe not. After all these questions I can’t seem to answer, I think “why should there be an answer?” After all, an idea never dies. They are only lost, to be found again later. A million emotions to be felt and forgotten, Over the time it takes for the midnight sun to rise and fall, Only to happen again the next night. Something that decays so quickly to some is useless, To others, priceless. If a dream does have value, If after awhile they are lost to us, And found by another, Then the jaded are the most impoverished of us all.