The words drowned,
As quickly as they rose,
To the shore.
Reflexively, reflectively,
Leaving behind a gaping
In my very core.
Not a clue, not a trace,
Of how much time has
And how time has passed,
In such haste,
That there I lay,
Wasted, basted, lambasted,
Left with minimal grace,
With an unrecognizable
Gone are the traces,
Of familiar smiles,
And doe-eyed, dreamy eyes.
In their place,
Remain orbs,
Dull, glassy, lifeless,
Lost trying to find a place,
Given up on the hope,
That lit their gaze.
Dreamchaser, Dreamcatcher,
They just remain mere
Traces of who I once used to
The one they called the naïve
Too bullheaded to think that
Dreams could be reality,
They all snickered,
As they saw the naïve idiot,
Being broken down over time,
Broken by the bitter lashes,
Life’s executors took pleasure
in whipping away.
They all cheered,
When the final remnants,
The glint and glimmer,
Of the idiot dreamer’s,
Hopes and aspirations,
Were burnt,
By a bitter flame.
When all I was reduced
Was just another face,
In the weary faced crowd.
And just when they thought,
They’d broken every piece
of the dreamer down,
A part deep within,
Flickers to life.


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