If I could write my life as a poem For millions who'll read, understand, think I'd conjure an epic, a mystery A tale on edge, a tragedy's brink.
I'd weave gripping waves of pleasure Together with heart-wrenching tides of pain A sea of battles with no leisure Of joyful wins going against the grain.
I'd stitch metaphors with gleeful pride Constructing rhythm with a bit of rhyme I'd dabble with similes here and there It'd be my thread on the sands of time.
But when I see my life as it is now How different it is from my lovely tale It retains its mystery, some agony A once-green crop grown dead and stale.
A lost yarn of mistakes and pitfalls With regret binding the threads as one Repeated faults with no known structure A once-free verse that is trapped, undone.
So I'll cast away my dream of a life In a graveyard as a forgotten goal. Some dreams never come true, it seems Just like some lives will never be whole.