Sometimes I stand and watch as my dreams die,
These dreams that I have nurtured since their birth,
These hopes I watched grow dim but then revive,
These dreams I’ve feared for often, watched with care.
I see them stabbed, quite suddenly. It’s odd:
It makes no noise, the knife, and I feel numb.
The stabber sometimes stabs with smiling face,
Sometimes in tears. There’s little difference.
The knife’s pulled out. I hope the dream will live.
A hard time now, but soon enough, we’ll fly.
My dream and I shall fly. No knife stops us.
Still fear lurks under all my optimism,
Still hope trusts underneath the most real fears.
My mind says it will take a miracle.
My heart takes that to mean all shall be well.
Miracles can happen. I wait to see one.
And then, just then, the knife goes in again,
And this time I can feel the pain. I scream,
But cannot even hear myself. All noise
Has faded out and I’m left there to cry,
Standing still in a vast expanse of white,
Watching my dream lie on the ground and writhe,
While stabbed, again, again, again, again.
I cannot move, I don’t know what to feel.
It hurts, it hurts! But dreams are not my life.
I’ve hope without them. Truth outshines my dreams.
I feel a fool for hoping, yet I can’t
Just yet give up the hope, cannot let go.
I’d promised in my heart, unwittingly,
That this would be, and till it dies I’ll try
To make it live. I want to run and fight,
To somehow bring it back, to stop the knife,
To heal the wound, make everything all right.
But I am helpless, so I stand and stare,
Half hope, half death, half agony, half numb.
Until it dies. Until it dies. And then,
The white expanse abruptly drops away,
At one last stab that finishes the job,
And I’m left in the world I left before,
And all’s so normal and so hurtful too.
A dull pain throbs within me, deep inside,
And smiles are quite difficult to find,
But I don’t mind. The dream is gone away.
I go about my business and cheer up.
Life’s not so bad. Life’s better than my hopes.
Of course I was a fool to hope for that.
I find it out. I always see it then.
But then another dream is born inside,
And something in me stares at it a moment:
I know that it will hurt. It too shall die.
How long, I wonder, will it take this time
Until I stand and watch it stabbed to death?
How long until it breaks my heart again?
Why must I dream? Why do I never learn?
And then, no explanation, but a voice,
Young, innocent, and hopeful, in my head,
Pipes up and says, “But this time, it will live!”
I don’t know why I listen. Heaven, why?
I turn my face up and I pray, but what?
Shall I pray life or death for this new dream?
I pray at last that all would turn out right,
Whatever that may be. Yet my heart slips.
I feel it promise me that I am right.
I hear it say that I know best this time.
And reason yields that this time it could be
That I have hit upon the perfect dream,
That this dream, this at last just might come true.
Oh, will and reason, why do you not learn?
It doesn’t matter if I’m right or not.
I’m watching the wrong standard; crooked me!
If truth outshines my dreams, then let me run
After the truth, and I’ll outrun my dreams.