Broken Dreams in the Attic

ledworldnuke's picture

Life on rewind, the simple and sweet motion,
The weighing of decisions on scales of time.
When did the dream become broken?
Shattered and smashed against the attic wall.
Can the spider sink mend the dream?
Or will it consume it in the cobwebbed memory?
Will it remain at the floorboards until decaying to dust?

How many dreams rot within the hallowed garrets?
What could they have been, if pursued, if given time?
Countless numbers of inventions lie in wrecks on the floors of mind.
Endless cures left undiscovered amidst the corners of submerged memory.
How many loves lay burnt and buried in the halls of psyche?
Shatter the dream, smash the thought, and bury the mind.

If a dream is a fragment of life, a piece of us unattached but born none the less,
Then why to we strip it from the cradle of thought,
Douse it in gasoline and torch it then weep for the flames?
The answer is simple; we can’t undo the dream,
So we corrupt it then burn it and deny self destruction.

Is the mind a graveyard? A burial ground for those pristine dreams?
The cemetery of mind where we bury the ashes of thought,
And leave them to become the soil from which our regrets will bloom.
Regret grows to sorrow, to hatred, and finally to self annihilation.

Time and time again we smash the dreams against the attic wall,
But one day the ghosts of psyche will return in haunting form,
Destroying the daylight and removing the night.

Shatter the dream, smash the thought, and bury the mind.
Crush the will, break the body, and torch the spirit.

Let all decay and die in the sea of ash that will become life.