I (Did) Have a Dream

When our dream dies, how do we recover. Rehab? My heart walks on a crutch, and my head lies in a coma. When our dream dies, how do we recover?

The contents of an operating table-

A dream with mere expectations.

Brought to disappointment, a void-

lies open heart and crying.

Tears streaming down rosy cheekbones-

Why do they tend to fall?

The hopelessness, betrayal-

loneliness: nothing to support.

What is a dream

without a significance or pulse?-

what is its existence but to linger

and await its own demise.

It's long, black hair falls in course

with cable and filament that show no heartbeat.

Its green eyes, beautiful, aesthetic,

are glazed with Death's shawl.

A dream left broken, shattered-

no amount of glue or stitch,

prayers or miracles, can bring it breath.

It just lies there a vacant tomb-

Never to amount, only a relic,

on display for the world to see

my mistakes and remorse. 

It's skin, ice cold and paper thin,

still glows with the life that once resided

in its now stiff and desolate form.

I did this, I killed it and cursed its beauty.

Opportunity, I had forsaken opportunity!

I tried to piece it together-

I tried with every material known to man,

but it just laid there unmoving, unforgiving.

My mind dresses in black drape and mourns,

weeps for its passing.

"I have a dream"- those f*****g words.

I did have a dream, and now its dead.

I visit its tombstone every day.

The recesses of any dark and unsparing place

can't hide what I did-

How I did it.

I live without love, spirit-

I live without soul.

My soul was as my dream.

I broke its spirit, it looked at me

right before it died with unforgiving,

amazing green eyes.

And as it breathed its last,

it looked at me with perfect, chiseled frame.

It clawed at my chest and ripped

with merciless, glossed nails-

My dream, the one I betrayed,

abused and neglected, reached in

and stole my heart, my soul.

It took my being in its grasp and as it shattered,

broke, died, ceased to exist- 

so did I.

I stand a shattered man, lonely,

an empty husk.

And every day I dress in black and mourn-

to visit my tombstone.