Village Idiot Publishing (C) 2000 Diary of a Spirit
THE DREAM IS GONE
Day in day out,
memories wandering, searching for a thought.
What will bring us back to a time,
When our world was one, and peace abound?
Yet we see not a time of love, nor do we see peace;
But instead, we see the victory of our game,
And how it possesses us in its own way.
So little do we know about our own self,
And the mystery of whom we really are.
The sky runs blue, the sky runs grey;
but we never notice.
A blissful existence for the rewards of our work,
But never enough to suffice.
The little boy dreams of cowboys and soldiers,
And things all blue.
It is not for him to be,
But at least the dream is true.
Then the dream fades,
and the world lurks To possess him,
And if not for the dream, he would die.
For it is the dream which keeps him going,
And makes him feel alive.
But the dream is spoiled, and life eludes him;
Then his heart is crushed,
And vengeance destroys his mind, and surmounts his life.
He sees not the disease,
But the flame of passion which drives him from within;
That makes the dream look infidel and obsolete.
Oh how he would prevail,
If only he could see the dream again.
But the dream has become a fairy tale in his mind,
And mammon has become his god.