Weaving

2002

We weep for the dreams we’ve forgotten,

And the dreams that have never begun…

For dreams that in youth were begotten;

And by life’s ruthless wind left unspun.

All life is a wish for the dreaming, I’m told,

But what always fails to be spoken,

Is that from each dream that our hearts take ahold

There’s the danger of being awoken.

Thus breaking hope’s spell, so our dreams may be sold

For reality, struggling and broken.

From the battering breeze we may get no reprieve,

But despite this barrage we continue to weave;

Till one fateful day, Youth’s web blows away,

And instead of rebuilding, we grieve.

To avoid this, some make a thrifty exchange:

A hole in the ground for a tree.

And earthed by events they’re convinced they can’t change,

Over soil and mud they’re contented to range;

Full of loss, yet still so empty.

We weep for the risks that we traded for safety;

And the battles that we’ll never fight.

For once grounded, we never consider that maybe

Our hearts are equipped still for flight.