Every night he would close his eyes and imagine;
From the moment he came to this earth,
He lived with these dreams of what could happen;
And year after year they came to fruition,
Until the night the Dreamer’s dreams collided.
He woke up in a cold sweat and tried to fight it,
But his dreams were killing each other,
And there was nothing he could do to stop them.
Night after night, year after year, the dreams would meet;
Killing each other while the Dreamer tried to sleep.
No longer did he think of what the future could hold;
Instead, he lay awake at night growing cold.
Then, one evening, he laid his head down to rest;
The night before, the final dream had died in vain,
So he fell asleep to the rhythmic beating in his chest.
The dreams didn’t come that night, or ever again.
We spent every waking moment looking down;
I heard the world around us was beautiful, but I wouldn’t know now.
We didn’t use our eyes for anything much more than a glow;
Now, we’re bent forward from staring at our phones—
When did we become these crooked-necked old folks?
Surely as we were squinting at pictures of places
We did not, and never will, see for ourselves.
I would tell you stories of my travels, but I left those books shelved.
I considered going outside, but wasn’t it always too hot?
I would have rather sat alone, scrolling through a feed of strangers’ thoughts.
You know, it’s blurry now, but I think
I remember seeing the most beautiful sunset—
If my memory serves me as right, that is, but most of the time it isn’t.
I’m sure there’s a picture somewhere if only I could find it.
Were our fingers always this curved, and our thumbs this arthritic?
The three of you seem quite discontent,
Isn’t that, however, how the majority of our lives were spent?
We were liked by many, but known by few—
Weren’t we only doing what we were supposed to do?
To fit in, you know? To make our friends jealous, to put on a show.
Why it’s all we’ve ever known.
As I think of it now, did we really need another post?
Innumerable images of food we never tasted;
Pictures upon pictures of people half-naked;
We’re at the end of our lives and only now do we realize our lives were wasted.
The simplest of loves and freedom
Created moments in their forever,
As wild hearts wandered together.
Tender-footed, they crossed the river,
Planting willow’s seed as
The birds, above all, flittered.
Bless’d beauty remained;
All the more reverent,
As the clouds cascaded gray.
Where the suns did fall,
They chased their days;
Until last light refused to stay.
Their lot in life still remains,
Weeping ‘pon the river’s banks;
Sympathizing with her name’s sake.