The gods of what will not be…

The gods of what will not be…
The gods of what will not be,
they, who who strip the dreams
from those as me
and thee.
Though we gird our dreams in reality,
the gods of what will not be
wash our words with their false tears.
A scorn of acid rain,
on us they pour
and strip our dreams till they’re bare,
and plain.
With a rumbled laugh they watch
our fragile dreams shatter
and laugh again,
as you begin to believe
your dreams don’t matter.
A cloak of failed dreams
upon their shoulders worn,
striped of color by their scorn.
Held tight within our hearts,
our dreams unborn
and turn,
into bitter ash
the final tendrils,
of our earthy tale.
False gods gorge, even as we rail
against their unjust rule.
Fearful we will arise,
they cast their ash into our eye
and bend our ear
with their misbegotten lies,
served as truth,
intended to distract,
and from our dreams,
we turn, and go.
Shoulders hunched,
beneath debts untrue,
which to our false deities
are due.
One last time we turn,
and glimpse
what might have been,
were we not blind subjects to
the gods
of what will not be.

Thank you for reading, if you prefer poetry of a lighter nature please consider reading my poem on Friends.
If you’d like to explore the inner working on my mind, then this might be the place to begin.

PS. This particular poem has nothing to do with religion.

About C.G.Ayling

Musing misuser of words, lover of lyrical literature, author, occasional contrary thoughts. An honorable man’s name, in memoriam.
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