Receding Dream Poem by Barry Middleton

Poets are given the gift of vision
and the curse of melancholy.
We see the possibility of peace,
but war is an eternal monument.
We see the possibility of love,
but lovers pass away like seasons.
We approach the clouded mountain,
yet are denied the summit.
We know that suffering could cease,
yet we watch the world bleeding.
And so we mourn the waste of life,
the tears of selfish pride.
We mourn the greed of humankind,
for earth is an abundant garden.
And too we long for youth again,
yet we know that cannot be.
So in the end, vision is a curse,
we reach for a receding dream.