Sunday, July 19, 2009


How many many pasts must we
survive to remember that the dream
has died. I have waddled, crawled,
walked and run only to fall to the
bed and cough with sobs of regret.

Soon my wife will awake. Soon our son
or our daughter will be born. And soon
we will make the mistakes of all our
terrible pasts. And smile at the lacerating
idealism of youth. Laugh at the arrogance
of the passionate youth. The dream that
permeates the ripe mind of the ever-young
has died. And yet we smile and laugh
at those day we lived. We smile at the rain
and the clouds. We smile at the days we have
yet to see – we laugh with the lack of

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