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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?
Published 13th Feb 2020
Author's Note
When routine swallows up our ability to dream we must ask some questions.
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