Am I down to my last dream?

It all began February 2, 1947

my first glimpse of light,

it was on a Sunday

no idea of the coming fight.

My entrance wasn’t gentle

it was a surprise at noon,

as I peed on the doctors suit

because I arrived too soon.

Those first years are lost

with no memories from then,

I know I lived them

but just can’t find them.

Vague little snapshots

run through my mind,

but with not one reference

where they fit into time.

I’ve heard some stories

about family members,

made up or factual

aimed at both genders.

Tales of my father

rumors of my mother,

stories of generations

confessions from my brother.

So many questions

and the unfound answers,

to have lost my young past

It’s traumatic as cancers.

The way we were raised

maybe not the best,

but they did what they could

leaving us to the rest.

There was not a word

for us to have goals,

dreams not mentioned

two major holes.

Slowly they came

little peeks of dreams,

a pleasant break

from those with schemes.

Whatever they were

I really can’t tell,

because they’re forgotten

all gone to Hell.

Many years later

I’d write a story,

“Shop of Hope and Dreams”

containing a bit of glory.

So now I’m older

once again all alone,

I think about dreams

a life in monotone.

How many do we get

maybe a limited number,

and if not used

do they rot like lumber.

One thing for sure

there were just to few,

not enough in my life

and that makes me blue.

Where do they start

from where do they come,

are they a gift from family past,

so few to leave me glum.

Surly they were far to few

feeling like there was a theft,

how many do I get

if numbered how many are left.

I’m very afraid now

allowing myself a dream,

maybe another woman

to make my eyes gleam.

To have another lady

so hard to match the last,

Wondering am I down to my

very last dream so fast.

Gary R. Cramer

May 21, 2018 ©