In all of what’s known and all of what’s feared; Nothing holds more then that which is dear; For all the dreams dreamt, all the hopes lost; I’ve dreamt up mydreams, now watch them fall; Should but one remain, then remain it be you; Those dreams and hopes one day hope come true; If nothing be remember, only time can tell; Those dreams and hopes may not be dead; Merely placed away, hope spear of dread; For now our paths may not be one; But future holds, many undone; One day then, may see as one…
And in the time that comes, one day, I hope to see, truly see, what it is the might have been seen in me. For if the lives around you are your true reflection, then do me the utmost honor and show me how I am. Memories can fade with time, and as with time, memories can be fabricated to fit what we hope to feel. Show me the truth of what is, what was, but not of what could be. If I am to see what could be, then I may never know what will be and that is the human tragedy that I wish to avoid. The empty promises of tomorrow and beyond create much fear; but I’d rather be afraid of things that offer some control. If asked of the fear held of her future, I’ll proudly hold my head on high with a lie. A self hope that the hardest hitting fears are pure empty containers, that never come near. Through dreams of flights in extensive fantasy, mindlessly drifting, eternally wondering, seeing the hundreds of possibilities of intermingled lives, the hope of giving more than received. In the years to come, may many good things come, but for me I wish of none. All of your troubles, be they given to me. Should things not go as hoped, dreamed, imagined or promised, and all that remains are feelings of pain, a hope you’ll find strength to seek what’s been lost. For if I must go, then go shall I, to the land dragging me back. A place full of peace, of rolling dreams, where hope still lives on all through the moors’. So look for the man out in the fields, alone in his thoughts with none by his side but the wide open land with journal in hand. And should you be curious to this man lost to the land, simply walk up and ask. Sit in the silence and bask in the knowledge that’s poured forth from the land; mystical magic that’s flowed eternally. Can you be proud of just such this man, despite all intentions, short comings and failed plans? Sit in this field, share with me how you’ve come to view this man. Is he everything that memory has come to describe or has he now become more? Despite what has been learned, he is still just a man. Still lost through eternity in his flights of extensive fantasy, mindlessly drifting, forever wandering.
Should ever this future come to pass, let it be hoped it will not be last, but rather just a journey that hath be taken by all and the next one filled with more promise and higher hope.