Dry. Poem by Peter Vealey

Where did the dreamer go to?
Who's this hard faced man
In my pose?
Well the trees still rustle
In the summer winds.
And the grass
Still smells sweet.
Closing my eyes
Only sadly to realise,
My mind
Has screwed up my smile.
With troubles (of your) times.
Whatever made me feel
Had learnt it all.
A time just left behind
Rightly.
But was so wrong,
Like a child.
Probably even more so
I need to lie down
Wonder of little to nothing.
But a few moments
Here and there.
Are hardly enough
To cope with this life
Of rush n' care.