Dying dreams, now dead.
Where did I go wrong?
I had the right concept,
For it came to me that what I did,
Did not make me who I am.
It was just a broken dream,
Conforming to the sound of the universe—
The emptiness of my cascading and my diminishing
As my life fell apart.
Where could it take me, I wondered,
Dreaming from age fifteen to fifty
Could they be a dying dream,
Or just a game that I played on myself?
A dying dream?
Speaking of dying dreams,
I was led to believe
That all dreams come true.
But why did my dream die?
Or was it just a frame of mind,
Those dying dreams?