The truth hurts, naturally,
I can break you down
To what you truly are,
Which isn’t much
And to be honest
It never really
Got that far.

Feel like I am
Being stretched too thin I am
A hundred years old, maybe
More and for some reason
I am thinking I
Am trapped here forever when
I would give anything, everything
To get out, and each minute is
Like another year's sentence I am
An inmate in my own prison,
What is the purpose of this?

This.
this moment,
before the now gives over
to cobwebs and dusty pleasures.
This opportunity.
Presently unwrapped,
spirals wasted into the breathtaking dawn.
Now
with the hideous cawing
and honest sunshine
stand bare,
and tell me that you have no regrets.

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream:
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?