Her dreams lived in the abandoned house on the corner,
Scheduled for demolition.
They waited for dim white spots smudged against black windows
To hear their lamentations
And travel trillions of light years through space and time,
Then, trembling with exhaustion,
Wipe the sweat off their brows, and weary,
Cement them out of the imagined.

But the stars are not concerned with earthly matters,
And the earth is not troubled with our lives,
And life doesn't care about humans and our worries
About what we leave behind.
And so the abstract contemplations of her would-be successes
Stayed in her head and brain and mind.
They decomposed with her in her grave
Dead as they were when alive.

The future will forget her and history will remain oblivious,
For what is there to state?
Half-finished sentences don't get published,
And she was a great