Am I Too Old To Dream
I read this poem last Friday night at the Yoga Loka Frenchtown Open Mic.
Encrusted by years of neglect
my dreams lie wasted.
Strew along the roadside
like forgotten pieces of farm equipment –
replaced by the practical efficient mechanized implements
of our day to day lives.
Idyllic scenes choked by tall weeds
which grow through the spokes of neglect.
When young I often wondered
what drove people
to forsake these things of beauty,
was tempted myself to clear away the overgrowth,
grease and oil the moveable parts now rusted,
sand and refinish the steel.
Awake their rugged personalities.
Resurrect the sun drenched strength of their owners.
Now I am encrusted myself
have given up on my better instincts.
Let things I once held high above the horizon – fall.
Trampled under my own feet
as I first ran, then marched in lock step
through the tended fields of reality.
Am I too old now, then, to dream?
Can I find some better thing? –
perhaps one which reality would call an illusion –
use it to give me guidance.
Have it serve as a North Star.
Take me through the balance of my life.
Give me hope and inspiration –
Or am I simply too old to dream?