Unceased

it has been months since I last dreamt

and I sometimes wonder if that is where

a true story is born.

for ever starting, but never quite finishing

anything anymore.

what are we all getting ready for

as we watch our dreams go by, unoticed,

unremembered, unreal.

the success of others

will eventually bear my own failure,at last

a last movement of the pen, a testimony-

of our unfitting destiny.

cry no more as the hours go by, the ashes

of every wasted minute on the clock

and be afraid no more if the light never flashes-

because it is life still,

the eternal light of the will.