My dreams are different patterns hidden in thread throughout a fabric
That hides them from my fading memory.
They are no longer the bright, rich colors of a brocade fabric
They’ve become faded, torn, and threadbare;
No longer soft as silk and gentle like cotton.
Instead they fade like rough and thick denim.
Once a beautiful chiffon,
Now a coarse polyester.
My once beautiful, full dreams
Are now tattered and unwanted cloth.