I Dream

Oh, how I fear the sounds of closing minds and wagging fingers of disapproval.
Yet, still, I am driven to be my own, one of dreams and hopes and loves and thoughts,
disregarding any resulting upheaval.
How I long to shout, to dance, to run, to jump, to cry.
Every tear of salty pain is a dream not fulfilled, a thought disregarded, a love lost, and hope left to die.
I want to flee to forever and back, to ride the wind, and taste the rain and breathe the deepest, fullest breath of adventure, and play.
I hope to hear the sounds when doors of minds are opened and nodding heads respond to what we say.
I beg to drink from the pool of love, to lap at its quenching juice; Oh, it would be paradise.
And, still I sit, all numb and sedate, with hidden hopes and muted dreams of forever and back;
and people say: Oh, she is so quiet and nice.
And inside, I shed a salty tear;
when those very words I hear;
and I try to offer myself this advice:
Soulless statues are quiet and nice.

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