The dream of youth
is to live forever.
Because it is a dream,
it is not real.
One day we wake
to see the light
streaming through the window
at dawn.
The glare is given a voice
that cannot be silenced.
The voice is muted,
a shadow of dancing memory.
It is a nagging whisper
that follows the shadow.
Deeply introspective and philosophical musings. Thanks for sharing, Barry. You have not been around since long. Hope everything is fine.