Where dreams come to die

‘We know their dream; enough

To know they dreamed and are dead; ‘ —W.B. Yeats ‘

 

Beware all ye who tread this road
Myriads traversed this path long before

This path is paved by their bones
Turn around, turn around
Before your dreams crush to dust
Swept under the swirling sands of history
Cries to feeble for those who follow to hear
Sordid stories of the powerful and the mighty
Spinning webs of fortune and glory
Fools following their calls of perceived glitter
Paid the ultimate price, this path doth litter
With their unfulfilled dreams
Ghosts of the tyrants and marauders of the past
False messiahs and society’s vainglorious leaders
With pretentious messages cast long shadows
Ruination only reward for those who follow
Does it matter who go first, dreams or dreamers
Blind followers’ dreams will lie shattered
Those who are left behind
Sheltered observers, detached all
Would rue the lessons of history not learnt
From the safe cocoons of their warm hearths
Wonder why no one heard their call
Beware ye all,
This road is the one chosen
Of all those dreamers
Who left behind their cry
Listen ye all, listen well
This road is the one
Where dreams come to die


This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Twenty Four

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