This was written C. Madria Stevens

Departing Not

C. Madria Stevens

When we dream,

Diamonds begin to fall from the sky,

Holding clouds,

Sparkling for even the saddest eyes.

Without wind,

You’ll hold clouds in the palms of your hands

And leave here,

Where the butterflies are but dead leaves.


Aimlessly flying close to the ground,

Not soaring

Or showing off their colors of spring.

I am tired

And my voice is hoarse from screaming doubts.

But still yet,

My dreams don’t tire from asking for help.


I’ll only seek out the best places.

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