Without Destiny.

There are some thoughts that when spoken take on change. They can become something different when uttered aloud, moreover their power increases. Better then keep them unsaid, and seam them away into the folds of the mind. That way is kinder to our survival as patient waiters for fate's call. When held closely, feelings retain all the magical colours we need. They most willingly perform lifting of pain soaked hearts, but must be preserved only as dreams. Change them to plans and they soon damn us. Without vision we are nothing but victims of fate. Take then a rainbowing archway of picture-paste dreaming, paint and plaster it over the heart, and leave it, a footprint appears as it eats its way in, marking an easing of pain entrenched in the soul. But the hurt of lost dreams has a bite filled with venom, which swirls unmercifully with force of a hurricane. When we realize finally hope is gone and search unremittingly to unearth it again, all we may find is piercing pain, which demands we leave and move on. Keep imagery clear and see it alive, but as yet unspoken, fill it with hope, bring it out nightly, re-dream it, then burnlish it brightly. This treasure alone is ours, and has its own beauty which feeds us while awaiting the real. Without destiny life seems unfair, barely endurable and the future looks empty indeed. Let us guard then our daily dreaming.