Vainglorious Us

Words rebellious,
Imprisoned,
Pages never turned,
Lost forever in
Fleeting screens
Ever changing.

Vainglorious us,
Soliciting likes.
Dreams of
Changing the world
Captive.

Victims we all.
Some suffer
Incredible pains,
Sacrificed
On altars of power.
Others sulk, nursing
Injured pride.
Hearts pain
Licking cowardice.

Vainglorious

Trinkets decorate walls
Ambitions showcased
Foundation rotting

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

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