Blowing Bubbles

Not every memory is worthy of rescue
Each an iridescent bubble,
Bobbled on the breeze of time
Landing gently on a finger tip
A nostalgic prismatic sphere
caressed by spires of starlight
but no hero is so sweet
as to save every memory.
No memory so worthy
That it will not at some point
Release its contents
With a muted pop…
So, when our dreams are just too tired to come true,
We have to wake up
And start blowing some more bubbles.

tis nothing if not heard

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