These Dreams Still Glisten.

The vitriol of a dying sun
Caught awash in the tide of reason
Atop a heap of broken words
A time for every season

Embark this day for a fragile promise
Spoken by a humble heap of bone
Nary a blade nor pistol to be found
This silent engine is yours to disown

In a life which you hate
Your undoing awaits you at dinner
Salad days are here again
Be sure to tip your sinner

The joy of your spotlight moment
Bleeds into the bottle of tomorrow
Part the seas of hopefulness
Set sail on the winds of sorrow

Your fingers touched grace once
Burst free of the phantom disorder
Stop and take a second look
These dreams still glisten with ardor

Along the edge of emptiness I say
I say
I say
I say
Say it to me
Open my eyes and let me see

Ophelia by John Everett Millais, 1851-1852