Think about our dreams, old friend.
The ones we dreamt when we were young and happy.
Those stories we used to tell with excitement and fervor.
We'd battle pirates on the bow of the ship,
Wield daggers against thieves in the night,
And fly on the backs of eagles in the golden sky.
Think about our dreams, old friend.
We left them behind when we grew older and seasoned.
We weren't chasing robbers when we had to wear a suit and tie.
There were briefcases to be sealed in the morning,
Meetings to attend in the cool of the office,
And trash to be taken to the curb in the dusty dusk.
Think about our dreams, old friend.
It's all we have left as we age and wither.
We can't carry briefcases with these frail hands and arms.
There are pills to be taken in the morning,
Programs to watch in the comfort of the couch,
And meals to heat up in the microwave before the sun even sets.
Think about our dreams, old friend.
Because now all we can do is dream while we wait for the sunset.
These are the stories we tell our grandchildren.
Stories about pirates on the high winds,
creepers in the darkness of alleys,
And a wilderness unfolding before our eyes only.
Think about our dreams, old friend.
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