Dreams

The warm whiskey trickling down the throat,
The ash from the fireplace, a rhythmic note,
The high of the spirit, the spirits are low,
The pale face glows against the outside snow.

The hourglass spinning lazily on the aged table,
Each drop a grim reminder of the nostalgic fable,
A time to treasure, a time magically lost,
Life or time?...A lifetime has its cost...

The fading pictures hanging on the shabby walls,
From their false smiles, a teary shadow crawls,
Tears of happiness, the shadow of stark regret,
Reflecting sadly on the vision that has set.

The rusty trophies in the forsaken showcase,
A petty symbol, once a sign of proud grace,
The pride's a relic, a pride of dark sorrow,
Staring in contempt at the unthought morrow..

The fire goes out, the eyes hazy...dim,
The story of life now just a swan hymn,
Unmindful of the wistful passing years,
Sleeping through a gaze of hollow spheres.