Haunted

I see the tethered souls tied to toil,
who stand in darkness of tyranny’s gold,
faced with a trail towards oblivion,
moving slowly and steadily
unto that black abyss,
hallowed eyes resigned to their fate.

Yet inside the fire still burns,
hearts haven’t died in their dreams,
the king, the lover, goddess and hero
all sing in the chimes of the mind.

By day’s clock they die in fleeting strokes of desire,
but nothing can extinguish the flame
shimmering in the silence,
spirit’s never slain of their heat,
burning brightly in the shadowy facades,
coming apart in the seams of hope,
though woven enduringly as a fabric of sanity,
holding tomorrow with frayed expectations.

However, nothing deters the dreamer,
not labor nor the subtle erosions felt in any sunrise,
because one is always haunted by memories
of how the future is often a surprise package
and you never know
when it will be a gift.