DREAMS THAT CANNOT DIE
DREAMS THAT CANNOT DIE
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Last edited by Voo on Tue Jan 24, 2006 7:28 am, edited 1 time in total.
DREAMS THAT CANNOT DIE
Dreams That Cannot Die
Living life, that unswerving road, that follows no road map
We travel ever onward on past triumph and mishap
We stop at roadside flower stands and smell the rose's bloom
And buy ourselves some fragrance that begins to fade so soon.
We light a light there in the night 'twixt midnight and the dawn
We love the dark but more the spark that makes the darkness gone
We count off days in lovely ways but more oft than not, in gloom
And look for love to come our way but hardly make it room.
Our lives are busy, busy things, we breathe too fast to know
That death is always on our heels and needing fear to grow
We miss the sunsets in the west, sunrises in the east
And nibble tidbits here and there and miss out on the feast.
We do not learn, we only burn our enery in toil
And only grasp what has slipped past as we leave this mortal coil
We wonder why we cannot hear the song of birds so sweet
But the sound of birds and the poet's words are drowned out by our feet.
The music, the melody, the rhythm of dance, the symphony's refrain
The flute, the lute, the violin, the sound of pouring rain
The laughing child running free and wild, the heartbreak of a kiss
When we are old it's then we know that life is made of this.
Then aged heads will bow in sorrow, with weathered faces, sigh
And replay life that slipped away and dreams that cannot die
For life is not to be hurried through but savored as we live
And not a thing to be taken lightly but something that we give.
by Voo
Jan 31, 2005 2 a.m.
for Layne Longfellow
Living life, that unswerving road, that follows no road map
We travel ever onward on past triumph and mishap
We stop at roadside flower stands and smell the rose's bloom
And buy ourselves some fragrance that begins to fade so soon.
We light a light there in the night 'twixt midnight and the dawn
We love the dark but more the spark that makes the darkness gone
We count off days in lovely ways but more oft than not, in gloom
And look for love to come our way but hardly make it room.
Our lives are busy, busy things, we breathe too fast to know
That death is always on our heels and needing fear to grow
We miss the sunsets in the west, sunrises in the east
And nibble tidbits here and there and miss out on the feast.
We do not learn, we only burn our enery in toil
And only grasp what has slipped past as we leave this mortal coil
We wonder why we cannot hear the song of birds so sweet
But the sound of birds and the poet's words are drowned out by our feet.
The music, the melody, the rhythm of dance, the symphony's refrain
The flute, the lute, the violin, the sound of pouring rain
The laughing child running free and wild, the heartbreak of a kiss
When we are old it's then we know that life is made of this.
Then aged heads will bow in sorrow, with weathered faces, sigh
And replay life that slipped away and dreams that cannot die
For life is not to be hurried through but savored as we live
And not a thing to be taken lightly but something that we give.
by Voo
Jan 31, 2005 2 a.m.
for Layne Longfellow
It's redundant to say that the beautiful poem for Layne is an essential reminder for us all, but I did, anyway. Its timeliness couldn't be more perfect for the remembrance of Irving Layton, and the things he did not forget as he lived his life, as a friend of mine would have said, "out loud and in living colour." It fits Irving beautifully, as well.
~ Lizzy
~ Lizzy