Young Hearts Gray When Tamed

I remember childhood being a glorious time: a time spent sitting by the window dreaming and extending the soul in all directions; a time when my mind and soul had not yet been worked over by cynics like chiropractors with crooked knuckles and cold hands.
Now the child has turned into the cynic. Dreams flattened. Ambitions arthritic. Heart as punishing as a fist: I have stopped sitting by the window. And when I catch myself dreaming, I am almost always saddened. Dreaming now represents halted aspirations and failed first attempts. I'm spread thin. Time ticks away. And a voice says stop dreaming, start doing. Yet I cannot began and thus I cannot finish. Dreaming is too painful. I long for an escape.


"a prayer for the wild of heart that are kept in cages"--Tennessee Williams