Tess Bybee - A Subtle Dream

She was not the only one
But, she felt as if she was;
To take care of fleeting dreams
To love those delicate little things.

They seem to move about with ease
But each time she condescends to reach
They move, swirl, curl up and seep
Into these black tars, they turn to sticky things.

Then the oil man, with his ember hand
Dips his fist in the tar and
Ignites her dreams; her tears turn to sand.

For each grain of sand that falls
A child dies, and a mother bawls.

Tess Bybee

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-subtle-dream/