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The Demise of the Dreamer

How do we die?

Is it to stop breathing?

Stop beating?

A life force depleting?

Or is it look up

On a starry sky

And finally cry

Knowing you will never be so high

How about in life

Cars still speeding

Drivers no longer dreaming

While you are stuck here reading?

This is the first moment

Of the end of your life

Full of laughter, full of strife

Never a noble, always a fief

Maybe it is meant to be slow

One day after another

Growing whiter in color

Until God is the only other

The dreamer sits in and thinks

More for himself

The present of no help

As the dust collects on his shelf

He waits more and more

Not even realizing it

Time passed during this sit

And he never seems to quit

Will it be crisis?

Will it be jealousy?

The moods that will hide his legacy

The wilted dreams never sown by Persephone

He doesn't even notive

The loss of faith was his dagger

The slings and arrows did stagger

But he chose to be a slacker

He will keep moving

A husk, a shell

Noticing little for his own hell

The dreams fully dead as well


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