Dead Dreams

Isn't it amazing,
How quickly some dreams can die?
Often left unburied,
No honor for their time in our lives.

They die because someone said what they shouldn't,
Because of one harsh event or another,
Something that just makes it seem impossible,
And the dream drops from our minds like a bird shot from the sky.

The only thing attending them
being those who remember when
those dreams created excitement,
Inspiration. 
Picking at the unwanted remnants like vultures.

But the owner has moved on,
Swatted away the memories like flies,
No longer caring that something they loved has died.

But not me,
I still carry the memory of most dreams from sleep
And plans for the future. 
Because even though I seem to have talents for forgetting,
I will always remember the things that made me feel something.

Author's Note

Day 9 of May poetry prompts with the topic being a carcass of dreams. Did one less about me, more generalized. I felt like I already addressed this topic.