When he was young,
He’d dream
Of fair ones few
With far felt minds
And locks of sunlight’s dew.
And then he spied
The hourglass
Whose sands run
As water flows,
And still his dreams were
Of fair ones few
And the bitter rose.
And as the sunlight danced
Upon the golden waves,
He’d stare
Into the hourglass
As hours passed
And left his dreams
To suffer
In the prison cells
With golden locks.
He stands behind
The cell bars cold
And reaches for
The warmth of gold
From sunlight
Dancing through
The prison window,
And wonders
If he’ll ever know
The joys of sails
Upon the golden sea.
Or will he be
Another name,
A prisoner who
Lost his sight
From staring too long
Too long at sunlight’s dew
And never touched the light?