A Dream Misleading
Alive and well, love is?
Tasting its fruits, its weight in my heart, I again feel.
Thriving, am I still? Proceed into these waters, shall I dare?
Breathing, feeling, caring. Is this me?
Death stalking me, I had believed the emptiness would prevail.
Faith and hope, am I truly to partake?
Wonders of life, of joy, are they mine to enjoy?
Barely breathing for years, my heart so quiet.
Beating but barely, devoid of nourishment.
A dream it was? Shuddering some, an intermittent quiver, I awoke.
Beyond the pain, I am done. My all, withering. So still.
I so ache; I am numb. Dubious to plant trust in such a quest to search for love.
I face the dreary truth of my days, hurt and bereaved.
Clear reflections in the mirror, aging body, ill health.
Soon out of time, I release the dream with determined abandon.
The possibility, perchance, that love nods to me?
Ah, a dream still breathing, but not mine to own.
No fruition, I resist to dwell in the realm of what might have been.
Of what could be. It is not. Alone, I remain, so to be.