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My mother and father do not dream.
To dream is to risk some things:
like failure and fault or hurt.
If that simply comes with age,
let me never come to those days.

My mother scowls at the unseen.
My father despises everything,
that looks like a remnant of what
he had hoped for. So, whenever
they see me, it like looking at lost
dreams.

It's like a surrender of just being,
and not thinking
and not creating
and not waking
up to the fact that life's dreams
are the only certain things
to bring life worth living.