Manifest Dreams
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Upon the canvas of the sleeping mind,
A fleeting sketch, a vision undefined.
It shimmered there, a whisper soft and low,
A fragile promise in the twilight's glow.
It was a seed, a fragment of a thought,
With silent purpose, it was deeply wrought.
But waking hands took hold and gave it form,
Through patient labor, braving every storm.
The vision sharpened, gaining vivid hue,
As fervent effort made the dream feel true.
The phantom air, once held in quiet trust,
Began to gather shape from mortal dust.
No longer just a wish, a pale belief,
But rooted purpose, finding sweet relief.
The broken-winged bird was taught to fly,
The frozen field thawed 'neath a striving eye.
And what was once a hope for things unseen,
Became the vibrant, breathing, living scene.
For dreams made manifest are more than fate,
They are the work that makes a world create.
The daring heart that chose a certain way,
And brought the colors to the light of day.
The unseen blueprint, drawn in hopeful night,
Is now the structure, standing strong and bright.
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