Shattered dreams

I dreamt in the days before love took form
and proceeded to break and shatter them all
and they litter the floor still awaiting a bend
in acknowledgement of the now state of them.

Tomorrow perhaps when the body undone
from the bone and muscle that keeps it upright
the pieces that lie at the base of a life
will be as dust discarded and gone.

And then, and then, no need to bend
and a woman, a man, can know of no trial
that forced them to kneel and sweep to the side
the broken and shattered dreams of the time.

They lie silent and seemingly dead to the turn
of one who now knows to overstep love
but always a step too large for the frame
can topple a steadfast and steady resolve.

Knowing that, knowing that, it's like I can be
a bubble that floats ever nonchalantly
above the now shattered and spent
many, so many, remembered dreams.

But bubbles ... oh, damn, they're so very fragile
and don't know how to align themselves
with steel inlaid concreted balls
that roll over love as if not even there.

And the drawing board calls to creative endeavour
but I know I'm the board, the creative, and all
that ensures safe passage over shattered dreams!