Wednesday, February 2, 2011

DREAMS DIE YOUNG

Fog sets in this morning as my dreams fall away from my hands.  A young boy I’m left in mourning; my dreams stray to faraway lands.  Mother said I must think like a man and forget my childhood.  Father says I’m a fool and should believe his falsehood.  Can’t they see oh God how they gnash at me?  Can’t they see oh God how they mock at thee?  Dreams die young; dreams are forsaken to those without sight – those kept from the light.  Torture was my lot as a child; with words and hands I’m constantly reviled!

Barefoot I walk the halls of my mind; is this dream where hell visits me tonight?  No matter how much I run, this fire consumes; I cannot fight.  Left alone since birth was I; thinking I wonder if this was in spite. 

This asylum is my home... my everlasting dome.  As I walk the garden of my institution, a rose stands next to a gnome.

“Can there be absolution” I ask the gnome...

“Please tell me there’s a solution” I scream at the gnome...

“Release me from this persecution” I say to the gnome.

Ceramic body comes to life; moving toward me the gnome comes alive.  Speaking, his words cut like a knife; the more he speaks the more he thrives. 

“Dear boy, why must you pester me today?” asks the gnome...

“Why boy, do you fester – it’s not even mid-day; your concerns my peace sequester” says the gnome.  “Have you not tired from your whining?  Or thinks you that freedom you’ll find by crying?  How dare you disturb my slumber; know not thee that you’re dying?  Your dreams have been taken from you dear boy; left to rot are you without happiness or joy!  Go and leave me be; open your eyes and this reality begin to see!”

In tears the boy walks; with back turned to the gnome he falls to his knees.  He weeps from the devil that stalks; without remorse the demon lashes out with please. 

A boy I am left to understand that dreams... dreams are made to die young.

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