Memories assault my mind,
And make me drink a drought of darkness all my own,
The once-filled corners of my soul,
Are empty now, and though accompanied, I am alone.
I’ve given all I had to chase a dream,
Which taunted me for much too long a time,
Shards of reality now cut the empty refrains,
Of what might have been,
Of shattered truths and dreams gone awry.
I seek with the hunger of a dying soul,
For that which I know can never be found,
And am rewarded for my foolishness,
By finding an endless void where the only meaning to be gleaned,
Is from the shadows cast by my dying mind.
What of Don Quixote,
With his faithful Sancho Panza,
When dragons begin to take their true forms,
And windmills appear? He fights to hold on to the dream,
And failing to do so dies from the crushing weight of his reality.
When I awake, I will redden profusely,
Put down my ragged lance,
And take my rightful place,
Beside the great dolts of our time.
But still I sleep,
Though I know the uneasiness of incipient wakefulness,
I cling on to the dream, knowing it a dream,
For in its sweet promises lie the only truths I can accept,
My only hope the evanescent reverie of an immature mind.
[For an audio file of my reading this poems, you can click here.]