Edge of dreams

In the balance,
colors hang on fragile threads
lingering at the edge
like thoughts that slip from view
upon the waking of the soul.
We grasp at straws
plucking images one at a time,
gathering up the cream of the crop
yet still finding the wayward strand
that sits mismatched
yet beautiful in its ugliness.
Are we but creatures
gathered in the grasp of the universe,
moving about like winds,
whisked away to the farthest post
in search of more than now,
and as we sit within the dream
we ask for yet more,
for the stories never to end
and the feeling to manifest,
to carry us farther
than we had ever dared to hope.
I see each petal,
and within the cells a tale to tell,
as it was on the edge of dreams
waiting patiently,
asking nothing
yet to only be blowing free in the wind.

Photo found on Pixabay.