I can’t dream
or hope
or wish
Anymore.
What’s the point
of dreaming
of hoping with
all
my
heart
when
They only
add up to
nothing?
I can’t dream
or hope
or wish
Anymore.
What’s the point
of dreaming
of hoping with
all
my
heart
when
They only
add up to
nothing?
You cry,
Silently
When no one’s home,
With no one to hear you silent pleas,
Your tears fall,
Silently,
Without any hope.
Your dreams are but simply that, dreams.
Ignorant,
Stupid,
How don’t they see,
How can they not know how you suffer?
But you smile,
A pretense,
It doesn’t really exist,
But no one knows really cares.
The girl who saw the ghost lives here,
She cries alone a lot,
She lives her life in awful fear,
Of all that she forgot.
The girl who remembers angels,
You may remember her,
She cannot stand all that befell,
Those strange and beautiful blurs.
The girl who took her life remains,
In this abandoned lot,
In order for her to remain sane,
She had to lose the lot.
She couldn’t stay, she couldn’t leave,
Not the best deal, she had,
Finally with courage and grief,
She was lost by her own hand.
That’s the story of the girl,
Who lost everything at once,
Everything to her bright red curls,
In her final grieving dance.
The words leap off the page as I stare,
Replaced by pictures; a three dimensional lair,
Imagination grabs my mind,
Not letting go of it’s own kind.
I see the bad guys, their genius plans,
The good guys’ deadline, an hourglass of sands,
I see their world, just as they see,
The tiniest details, the flowers, and bees.
I hear their laughs and see their smiles,
I laugh along with them for a little while,
I hear the world bustling around,
Yet reality never makes as much as a sound.
Their fear is mine, striking my heart,
Striking straight through, like a poisoned dart,
I freeze, stop, stare the bad guys down,
And then I remember and feel such a clown.
For hear I am, alone in my home,
Fear goes away, my excitement has grown,
I look back to the page in front,
And in my mind I’m on a tree stump.
So many hopeless souls,
Seeking so very desperately,
A place they called ‘home’.
I cycled round and round and round,
I pedalled faster, homeward bound,
I tried to find my way back home,
But unsuccessful, unlike some.
Some people have it easy,
Never feel queasy,
‘Bout being lost,
No matter the cost.
And as I rode and rode and rode,
I thought about how I’d been lost in the road.