The death of dreams.
The end of things as they were,
a broken promise of what will never be.
I wish I could wash it off,
and peel it away from me,
like a discarded skin.
The scar from burning memories.
A monkey suit of all the mistakes,
all the sadness.
I carry it,
it weighs upon me,
and pulls me down.
I feel the sorrow like an anchor.
Surrounding and encasing me.
Ave Maria amidst a funeral dirge,
When dreams of love were new,
Before death filled our days and memories lie yellowed among the photos of times remembered.
People growing old.
Grey haired strangers that used to smile at me,
As we held our hopes high for others to see amidst the Champagne toasts, baby showers and celebrations.
Now our secrets and dreams are seldom shared.
We meet like strangers in dark hallways through passageways to other doors.
Sharing life and poster board memories.
Swimming pool Summers and Black and White stories.
Cookies and crutches.
Dead man's party.
Minus the cool soundtrack,
and special effects.
We stare with regret of things left unsaid,
falling upon deaf ears,
and glued eyes.
Rag doll mouth with invisible stitches.
A permanent smile with silent laughter.
A beautifully adorned box with all the trimmings.
The cocoon is open and the wings have dried,
yet still you cage the butterfly.