dream

pesants toil

in the yard

the poet argues

with the bard

sing praises of

distinguished men

but wasting breath

and ink from pen

write self-fulfilling

prophecy

pulled the plug out

from the dream

youthful sins

ingrained in stone

years gone by

cannot atone

so look for God

at waters edge

poor Juliet,

I drove a wedge

bewteen what dreams

just might have come

and chains of guilt

and gallons of rum

and some day I

might understand

how nothing came

from all our plans

still flames are fanned

and embers burn

loved ones lost

and lessons learned

youth turning into

middle age

the sage, she dances

from the cage

and pages turn

and fall away

words are lost

I cannot say

I pray that I find

time to write

but out of mind

and losing sight

and visions blur

and dreamlands die

no use is left

in getting high

and crying rivers

flow both ways

the hour glass breaks

counting days

and years and decades

turn to sand

this and that

go hand in hand

and standing in

a distant dream

the doves they cry

as vultures scream

and sun beams burn

a heart so pale

a broken wing

a wounded tail

and sail around

and drowning still

no liferaft thrown

no written will

pill bottles emptied

in the fire

the flames they grow

higher and higher

and higher still

they touch the sky

until rain falls

when God,

she cries

the ink runs out

the pen bereft

the jester laughs

another theft

and left

right

leaving

tales untold

keep the diamonds

keep the gold

an old man looks

for what he lost

the prophets profit

the old man lost

his mind when he found

pages blank

himself, the only one

to thank

for dreams defered

and love denyed

he drowns now

by the river side

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements