| If I Dream of You, Please Tell Me The clouded sky gloomy and dark, had hazed my tear stained eyes. My mind had wandered the corridors, of a place I despised. This has been my not so ancient past, walls bare and I'm alone. I'd already relinquished this was me, this was my home. I resigned to live here once, knowing forever a lonely fate. Bitterness, anger, scorn and hate, on shelves all in place. I never thumbed the pages, I only added everyday. None were ever duplicated, all were new in everyway. The volume containing love and hope, so tiny, thin and small. So few times it was added to, mostly none at all. I never vowed to change my habits, I hadn't searched for love. The hurt ran deep and fear excelled, feeling abandoned from above. I'd lost so many personal things, my heart cracked and shattered. I tried over and over again, but still lost all that mattered. Finally I resolved to stop, and quit caring anymore. I never wanted hurt again, so I quietly closed the door. This went on for many years, unhappy yet content. If only I had a nickel, for every sad day that I've spent. But I could never carry them, my burden now is heavy. And the taxes! I'm already taxed , what more could they levy. I'm not alone, there's others like me, someday, somewhere we'll meet. I won't be looking or hunting, but if it's right, there may be one to keep. I so miss the care and love, memories of caress. Much unlike I am today, so much pain and so much stress. I sit at night and dream of angels, faces, smiles so sweet. Perhaps someday one I'll claim, I'll know when we meet. Untill that day I'll keep on dreaming, as they have been a blessing. I can picture one certain angel, this one is refreshing. The masked Writer <-.-> <,.-> (C) 2001 T Lovett |