Beauty

Sometimes I dream

of golden streets

lined with jewels

and flying beautiful

creatures

that sing

of how great

you are

for beauty

is becoming

all the days

and wonders

and the pearls

of death

that I

cannot see

and the heart of

an old lady

that's lived longer

than her

very old mother

who died

twenty years

ago

and age makes

a beauty

that

your eyes

can only see

if you care

enough.

It's hard

to care

when no one

else does.

Every year

I see a world

looking more

and more

dead

and hope

becomes

ever more

elusive

like that

little black

mouse you

can never

catch

and

no matter

how hopeful

you are

everyone makes

you feel stupid

for thinking

big

no wonder

there aren't

many dreamers

anymore

they get persecuted

for dreaming

this makes me

feel dead

sometimes

nothing big

happens

if no one

thinks

big