The whisper of a dream












It is the whisper of a dream that hangs in the crisp air, fills every limb like Oxygen. Every blood vessel pumps buoyant, crimson red , pulsing with imagination. Access lurks round the corner. I have seen Zombie men in suit and tie, move like clockwork then be summoned like Children when a dream lured them with the candy from its fingertips. Each idea more vast, more vivid, framing great change, nurturing growth and seducing them to splendour. It is but a dream, others say. As the machine yanks on their puppet strings, yet you my dreamer, will hear the song and you will sing its limericks of freedom.

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