Forgotten Dreamer

My cracked and timeworn hands

Bleed profusely across the blank parchment of my life,

Therefore giving witness to the despair of my dismal and distant land.

For my failings and broken dreams are now left to bury their dead,

as the sun of yesterday and the moon of lost hope dances its truths in my head.

So…so close, was I yet infinitely so very far,

For I lay trapped in starry sequences bizarre.

Lost unto the depth of thoughts, which debase and betray all

As I… Oh I, the forgotten dreamer

continue my slide into the pit of disenchantment in which I am sure to fall.

For the time is late, and my days draw swiftly, so swiftly to their close,

As I ponder the perplexities of it all, in my simple verse and prose.

Yet, to me, it seems to be all of a lost cause and to no true avail,

For I succeed not, when in truth…I know I have failed.

Therefore, I ask in earnest of myself,

Of all the things I have pondered, of all that I have written,

What do I have…but these dusty memories, which lay bare upon my broken shelf?

Papers and papers filled of my written word,

All for naught, and all so silent in that much will go unheard.

Yet, I suppose it matters not, for in all, my dreams are vain,

As I lay waste, to my wanton hope and succumb to truth and its unerring pain.

I have fought the good fight, or at least that is what I think,

For when measured against it all, as time has truly shown,

My words are but dust, in that they shall soon be gone.

~ Peace To You All ~

J. Allen Wilson © 2005

www.Jallenwilson.com