Broken dreams are so serene
there’s nothing to do but wonder
what could have been a lifelong sin.
No hard labor to belabor
no efforts to withstand
just quietude and solitude.
Unrealized dreams are a fine excuse
for a marginal life
no hardship, no struggle, no strife.
Just complaints so loud, so proud
of the shattered dream
of the tattered scream of surrender.
You walk along the crumbled edges of your hopes
you do your best to step around them,
yet you must confess.
The trodden dreams
they haunt you and nip at your heels
they shadow you and follow you like needy children.
You are taunted, poked and proded
your prime has flashed
your time has passed
there is no sorting the pieces
now you are just one of “them”.
You could have,
you would have,
you should have done that.