Dreams (of a life that never was)
They come hard and linger, these dreams of the past
In a way I could not begin to describe.
I harken to moments of years long past long ago, and know for certain It is that, in which I am illuminated.
My formative life filled with such images of old, classic grandeur
Of boxwoods, and rose bushes, and pine, and ripe summer sea. Scents of privilege one could surmise.
The pain of the present is a burden to bear indeed.
Misunderstood by even my own, I know people, and places, and music, and nature from the perspective of no other.
Oh, to reach back in time, to my age of innocence and formation.
Are we really to live for the future?
But that future seems so grim, and bleak, and washed in the rays of a sun so relentless.
At this moment I think I’ll dwell on my past
And long for the dreams of a life that never was
