Is there a point of no return
To dreams made when we're young?
When do the lyrics fade away
Of songs too seldom sung?
Why did the pillager of time
Wipe out my winning hand,
And help the joker mock my loss?
I cannot understand.
Where did they go -- those hopes, those dreams,
Those castles in the air?
I'd like to play my hidden ace,
But find it isn't there.
Too late! Too late! I have grown old
By struggling to survive.
I thought the troops at my command
Would always be alive.
But they retreat, and so do I.
The miles before I sleep
Look long and lonely to these eyes
Where laughter used to keep
Its torch that led me through the night,
Its candle for the storm,
Its fire that chased away my fears
And kept my children warm.
Dare I reach back for one hurrah?
It frightens me to try.
There's just the shadow of a spark
That has refused to die.
I'll feed that flame! I'll write the poem.
Perhaps it will inspire
More dreams, more love, more happiness
To gather 'round the fire.
Donna J. Stone
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