Horizon of Our Dreams
When we are young the possibilities of
our dreams lie beyond the horizon in a tangled blur,
and like our shadows, wherever we may go or
whatever we may do, the horizon of our dreams
glides on ahead of us, magnificently undefined,
luminous in their promise.
In time, we are wounded and battered by the constant
collapse of reality about us. We grow old.
We are sobered by our age, and the circle of
our diminished dreams gather ever closer to us.
In the end, the dreams hang like a nooseabout our necks, gray and well defined, and we ask? Is it we or the dreams that die?