Chances - Poem by Dylan Dowrick
And of dreams we come.
Weakness is for the strong,
and vulnerability is for the tired.
Holes in head, heart, and spirit,
pain in my legs, they run thin on blood,
they run fast on passion.
I go forever, I walk relentless.
The sunset is a mark,
a mark of the journey worth taking,
the accomplishment worth reaching for,
the games never played,
the friends never ‘hey’-ed,
the love never saved.
The sandman goes to bed,
the reaper dies in his sleep.
Comments about Chances by Dylan Dowrick
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye