This was written C. Madria Stevens
C. Madria Stevens
When we dream,
Diamonds begin to fall from the sky,
Sparkling for even the saddest eyes.
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,
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.