A Return to The Old Form...

Life Is A Dying Dream

Life is a dying dream

Filled with empty promise,

Dragged along by a waning hope

And thrown away by chance.

Taken away by death,

Leaving nothing but memory

I watched as his memory

Faded.  I watched as his dream

Suffered a wretched and complicated death.

It was, after all, a single promise.

I took a chance.

On a corner, something beckoned, hope.

And with so many good intentions, hope

Began to collect my memory.

It rid me of anything he called chance,

And made fate, a longing. A dream

Worth the wildest promise

And bringing about a cold death.

This is when we explode, and death

Couldn't be happier. Hope

Has made itself less than a promise;

A simple one, a single memory

That slowly fades to a dream

That never had a chance.

And, when you think about the word chance

You begin to consider the possibility of death.

It is after all like a warm dream

That reeks of some sort of desperate hope;

Like a lighthouse long abandoned, memory

Of it flickers out, and we are left with a promise.

So now let me speak, and I will make you a promise.

Listen, because words have power, take a chance

Because, though it is fickle and strange, memory,

Though we would like to think it, has no death.

There are things that will fade: hope.

But only if we let go of the dream.

I promise, in the end, this will be no real death,

And you will not confuse chance with that faint hope.

I swear, the memory is stronger than the dream.