#6 Dreams Dying the clouds rising are beautiful, into the darkening night sky, I look up and see my face in them, staring back I am a dreamer and all, soft breeze tenderly wrapping invisible tendrails, of air around my hair and the world is oblivious, to such small doings as this; the moon soon will peek around the edge of the sky, peeking with wonderment unto the earth, though somewhere some teen girl cries, I am oblivious to this, pitch it all in and give it away, stop being sensitive to the world, as do all lives all dreams must fade, into the darkness that is the night becoming, it seems a small token no comfort to me, maybe someone else is feeling this, and as I look out into fantasy, I feel my dream dying with me...... by jw farmer august 28th outside Doughton Residence Hall dedicated to Christine Wages