I dream of the life that I
thought I once had.
The life that I lost.
That I gave away.
And yet it was not my life
at all--only a dream.
Therefore I have
lost nothing.
Given away nothing.
These hopes and wishes
in my head of the life
that I could have had
That I should have had
That I have lost
are only of the before stated
dream.
And yet their presence is as
real to me as the blankets I
sleep with. The sky that I see.
The arms of friendship that
surrounded me.
That held me.
That I left behind.
That I gave up.
Does hope turn forward
During these times of duress?
As I lay in my bed unsure
Of what tomorrow will bring?
Boredom and dependency?
Or the beginning of my new life?
Yes.
Hope looks forward.
Yes.
Hope sees into tomorrow.
And dreams will come again
of a different tenor.
A different color.
And even if I, again,
long for the things of
before,
Then I know hope will
survive through the night.
And, again--tomorrow--
I will dream.