I raised the dream like my child,
Watching it grow and flower with my own eyes.
I saw it grow sick and weary and tired and old,
This spiraled out of my control
I could not bear to see much longer.
And then, my dream, my lovely child
Died.
I watched it sink down to the ground,
And I cried.
And I cried.

I envisioned it perfectly,
Stepping off the plane to an Icelandic breeze.
Breathing in the salty sea air,
Thinking this is where I should be.
Hiking along the rolling green hills,
But pretending not to notice
Their fading hues.

The resplendent mountains surrounding me,
Slowly crumbling to the ground.
And oh! Aurora Borealis,
Creating colors of wonder and mystery
Like an artist painting the night sky.
But, they don’t shine with their usual luster.

And suddenly I feel myself being pulled
Out of Iceland, and it says,
“Why are you leaving us?
What have you done?
I cry out wishing I knew why.
But I am whisked back
Into that empty gray room
All alone once again.
With no one to laugh with, no one to cry,
No one to be with me when I die.
I begin to feel myself slipping,
Yet, I may have just enough to finish this