A dream has died—
its yellowed pages now curled
all up at their edges…
forgotten, unfurled.
A dream has died—
dried up like old leaves,
tossed away by the wind.
On its door I hang wreaths.
A dream has died—
so for what do I now yearn?
I am mourning its loss
at my every turn.
A dream has died—
long before it was to be known…
like a child lost in the womb,
with no future or home.
Do I bury its memory?
Is that how to cope?
Do I cremate all joy
and abandon all hope?
Do I deny its passing
with each new morning’s mist?
Do I rage on with clinched teeth
while shaking my fists?
Do I beg the Almighty
to away its stone…
when its demise and its end
He, Himself, has condoned?
Do I cry forever?
Do I wallow in strife?
Or do I accept
the Lord’s will for my life?
A dream has died,
and though I am sad;
I will pick up the pieces
instead, and be glad…
for its journey that’s led me
on a less taken road,
onto which I’ll now travel
and make my abode.
The death of a dream—
it doesn’t have to destroy me…
as faith births a new purpose
in which God will employ me!
References:
Line 26 – John 11:38-44 of the New Testament
Line 38 – The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost