A Dreamers Lament

Once a love now withered in dust, the flame that kindled candles glow, of dreams and pastures nightmare past, a glass unseen splinters so. The conjured love young hearts bring, so fine and neatly traced, disappear within the years that fondly take their grace. A sonnet of bestowing fame, lay years to be unseen, like tokens in a daydream case that hurry passed in haste. A tormented soul in darkness, awaits its freedoms light, but passing time awaits no one, in its rush to pass. The swiftness of a cupid’s arrow, within no mortal dream. The flight of a songbird in the sky, will a way want not. I am a dreamer of the past, whose futures an empty bowl, shed tears of staining sorrow across a hidden brow. No man is an island, no man is ever best, for one never dreams of love, or puts it to the test. One can only dream of things, with hope they’ll come true, but fools are only dreamers, and fools win in the end.