There is a day
for most,
or at least
too many,
where all the dreaming dies.
How sad,
to sleep,
and wake,
only to sleep
again,
with nothing
in between.
I remember when
each and every day,
I thought the next,
might be better.
No more,
I'll die
where I last sit
there's nowhere
else
to go.
Too old to battle
too old
to even
make
the effort.
I wish
I'd seen it
coming.
Prepared for it,
some how,
some way.
But no,
and so,
I sit,
in an empty
room,
lie
in an empty
bed.
Goodbye's
were said,
but not
acknowledged,
as all
my dreams
walked away.
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
There is a day
for most,
or at least
too many,
where all the dreaming dies.
How sad,
to sleep,
and wake,
only to sleep
again,
with nothing
in between.
I remember when
each and every day,
I thought the next,
might be better.
No more,
I'll die
where I last sit
there's nowhere
else
to go.
Too old to battle
too old
to even
make
the effort.
I wish
I'd seen it
coming.
Prepared for it,
some how,
some way.
But no,
and so,
I sit,
in an empty
room,
lie
in an empty
bed.
Goodbye's
were said,
but not
acknowledged,
as all
my dreams
walked away.
