There is always hope.
Daylight dreamers awaken on deserts of desperation. Lonely lives learn to live on islands of isolation. Surrounded by violent oceans of hate and hopeless sorrows, daylight dreamers envision tranquil seas in safe tomorrows. Dreaming through the darkened day, along tempest-torn strands, desperately grasping the grains fo hope that flit through our hands. As they fall we tighten our hold while the waves claim the final few. Taken without ceremony, they drift out of view. Washed away with the tieds of time; slipped through our fingers as dreams do.