This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO



There is now no other dream,
No other dream like the star wandering on high,
Floating like a fog on the surging ocean face;
A light that has already passed in far-flung memory.
Our forefather’s, too, stared within their grace,
The eyes of our mothers and fathers; a world
Of our tumbling through infinite space
Gazed upon them with a fearless spirit
Sculpted upon the meadows of their dreams.

We see them now not as dreams,
Not as dreams, but as our most waning hope;
Tumbling not of ideals, but of bleak daggers.
Have we not them a decent wish as they close?
Have we no more than the dark folly of man?
Might we seek it out with eyes of wisdom;
Familial visionaries in quest of peace
Standing tall above the crag of tyranny
Speckled in the light of floating wonder?

There is now no other dream,
No other dream more vital wandering on high,
Floating like a beacon through our darkness;
Radiance yet to come upon harmony inside our sleep.

Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

Thank you Arch.Memory

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