Forgotten Dreams
In the crypt of abandoned hopes, your older self once knelt in silent regret,
Each shattered promise a weed poking through the stone, defying the hush of neglect.
You watch them now, these faint wrecks of dreams once shining bold,
Their rotted petals littering the floor, each dried vein a story left untold.
The world swore you’d thrive on ambition’s glow, all you found were battered illusions,
And from those shards of vanity you tore fresh resolve, forging primal fusions.
Your tears fell thick, staining the dust that caked the tomb of your expectations,
And in that damp gloom, seeds of something new began quiet germinations.
You feel it in the marrow of your bones–a lust for raw, unapologetic growth,
A savage hunger that gorges on past failures, forging new oaths.
Each scratch in your memory morphs into impetus, fueling your heart with a rebellious fire,
No longer content to shrivel in old mistakes, you let their decay push you higher.
Dark ghosts cling at the edges of your mind, crooning that you’re still unworthy,
You feed on that hush of condemnation, letting it sharpen you early and sturdy.
From each broken vow and bruised ambition, a seedling bursts through blackened ground,
Whispering of second chances that find traction where rotting corpses once were found.
Blood surges in your pulse with each memory of past fiascos unraveled,
The hush of their accusations can’t kill the thirst for new roads to be traveled.
You nurture each fragile stalk of possibility with lessons gleaned from battered pride,
Refusing to let old shame define you, as new visions expand inside.
What was once a domain of hush and stale sorrow becomes a greenhouse for audacity,
Your future roars to life among the bones of old illusions, breathing sweet profanity.
The crypt dissolves into a garden of savage growth, raw and unafraid,
You stand with clenched fists, alive with the drive that your older torments have made.
So let these resurrected hopes shimmer, green and brazen in the crypt’s dusty hush,
Each leaf a vow that even the darkest decay can’t silence your thrashing rush.
And with each root that claws into the marrow of your history’s grim domain,
You celebrate the savage truth: lost dreams can feed what’s next to claim.