I dream of a place so lively
That death ceases to be.
Here, with interactions hearty,
No one wishes to flee.
She loves for more than face,
Her betrothed more than waist,
And all do not consider waste
Hands held at steady pace.
No excuses here found
Terminating youth and sound.
None hide underground
Below flowered mounds.
There is no such pain
As that of life in vain.
None play doctored games,
Then opt for change.
That was it, and clear I saw
How we clawed above all
Making this reality
And that a fantasy.
Edwin Cordero's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (A Fantasy by Edwin Cordero )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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