Days to Come

In days to come I write of hope, I write of beaming white. I scrawl of joy and scribble truth, and smiling, sweet aloof. In times of dreams I hold a hand, warm coursing youth unmarred; I hold an orb in fingers gold and clutch the silver fold. In dreams of bright I dance alive, I move with perfect grace; We dance together, in this light- red-cheeked and blissful you. In future years I rest serene, a calm and withered soul. I bed my jagged, sick-scarred limbs and dream of times of old. But for now I twitch with sad regret, I pulse with horrid discontent. Full knowing past dissolved to be- and dreams of youth are rent.