Frosted windows separate me
from the tiny fingers
pressed against the window pane.

Tendrils of smoke descending from above,
shrouding the fingers within
only visible in the glow of the flames.

What can I do but watch him die
as reality sets in, no time to play
with the person I used to be.

One by one they peel away,
leaving sweat marks on the glass,
until my inner child has gone up in flames.

Now I wake.

To find that though a dream, it was
formed from truth and reality,
the years of yesterday have taken it all away.