The Last Dream... Poem by David Lewis Paget

'What has become of my life, ' he said
To the clock on the kitchen wall,
But the hands stood still at 20 to 4,
The clock didn't know at all!

He turned to the mirror that mocked him there
Each time that he walked on past,
And searched for a sign in the pits and lines
Of the stranger who peered from the glass.

'Where are the days of the youth I had
When I laughed and cried out loud?
Are they hidden away on a dark pathway
Where I walk with my shoulders bowed? '

'And where, oh where was the love I knew
As she tripped from the wishing well,
And the coins that we threw in the fountain there...'
- There are several kinds of hell!

The sand still spills from the hour glass
As he tries to find some meaning,
'Til he falls asleep by the mantelpiece
For the last dream, dreaming.

20 January 2010