(A young man's yearnings...)

by Melanie Anne Phillips

So here I sit. All that's left of what was hopeful. Flashing eyes and inner heaven of green trees and blue skies. Long years spent in developing a world within. Something above the feeble glow that passes for reality. Always entertaining thoughts obviously less than sane, and always leaving them for something more substantial. But every rock-hard and solid tangible I grasp for evaporates into senseless wisps at my touch. Having an image but no reality to match it.

And just when I think I've finally found her whom I met in reverie, a flaw materializes and whips up, screaming tauntingly like a quick scythe, shattering the polished teeth of a forced smile.

And all of this is mine. The legacy of an innocence long since dead and rotting in the forgotten smears of yesterthought. I always have hope, which brands me as a fool before I have a chance to enjoy those things obtained while becoming a fool.

So, dashed and splattered are the vile thoughts of peace and love, and just an empty scar that doubles as a sneer is left to frown and brood.

And I try, I really do. And I fail, boy do I fail. Yet, inside, the green trees and blue skies go on, a little murkier perhaps, but on. And once again I drag my sliced and battered "I" up on its weary stubs and funnel into my heart all that comes my way, which usually happens to be rejection.

But there's a new day coming. And its always darkest before the dawn. And life goes on....

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