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Dreams are a fistful of glowing embers
burning the fate-lines on my palm;
I hold them dear
not to let them die of cold-
shoulders meant to rest a head
full of bruised imaginations,
carry coffins of hopes,
fallen from a sky replete
with rollicking stars.
And the moon that swelled with pride
every night we conversed
seems to have suffered a memory loss
as it stares me blank,
its countenance oddly pale.
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“And the moon that swelled with pride every night we conversed” beautiful…
Visit my blog–> Stay Blessed
And the moon that swelled with pride
every night we conversed
loved it on whole 
DEEP