Lost Dreams

Lost the dreams of youth, simplicity of self
To oceans of time and changing seasons
The carefree days of play and frolic
Now but memories, old wives tales

The joys of play, turned to existence
Visible on the many landscapes altered by war
Where monuments rise, and kingdoms perish
Buried under sands of time

The pride of man will fade to memories
Lost to greed, and lust for power, decay
Once tree lined paths now paved and lifeless
Like the souls of the many who travel thereon

The poet born to sing of beauty, cries
Will challenge fate, to share a dream
To parchment the soul of hope is written
Longings, prayers, put forth to inspire

But the race of man will falter, breathless
Plagued by poisoned air and stream
Dying slowly in animated life
Failing to seek his dreams

Nice.

I'm trying to reconfigure "lost dreams" into something other than a nightmare.

New dreams have to have some value too, no?
All those parched lands... aren't void of life.

We must work with what we have... and give thanks.
I've lost plenty... still, I choose to focus on what might be.
Put a shoulder to the task and struggle on.

I hate it this way... but I love it this way too.
Lose a dream... dream up another dream.

War destroys many dreams, leadership destroys many nations.

The poet is a dreamer, seeking answer to or from a reality, shared in vision by word or song... a messenger, to those who will listen.

Well, said...
I kinda' follow Budo.
Those of us caught in-between.

Fighting to find those who would listen... without causing damage.
Quite the conundrum.

The poet's life inspires me... mainly because I stink at writing.
I "do", or try to do, what I can't put into words.

Thank you for sharing your writings.

Poetry for me is a search for clarity, understanding, meaning.

As I search for words of expression the mountains of possibilities present themselves.

To limit your thought to rhyme or reason is to limit the possibilities of your understanding.

Understanding comes from within producing action. Actions produce results. Good or bad we learn, creating a better understanding.

Creativity is the mother of invention. That mother at times offers us tough love.

If words come from the heart they are never fruitless as someone will always benefit from them.... even if it is only yourself.

I am honored by comment, humbled by praise, educated thru input, and inspired by all.

Thank you

Good one, Soul... I like how you describe a life's journey from the innocence of childhood, to the realities of life and strife, and the
inner desire to reach out and share the experience, good or bad, all the way to the disillusionment over time... that can prevent the seeker from following his dreams.. this is what I see...