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Tepid Dreams

 
Is it the dust?
Is it the cold?
Is it the scorching sun?

Did the elements hold a combined session
To rob me of my soul?

I once knew a man who dreamt of touching the sun
And having a feast with celestial biengs.
Youthful,
Fiery,
Bright.
Now when I close my eyes
All I see are bills,
Unpaid taxes,
Unresolved crisis...

Where is the cradle of zeal,
That I may drink.
All I have are tepid thoughts.
Can I dare to dream again?
Kingvirky
Written by Kingvirky
Published
Author's Note
When routine swallows up our ability to dream we must ask some questions.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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