This life is too short, my love
To be spent dreaming, in lieu of you.
Not even your grace could compare
To the dream I once held of youth.
Are my bones too weakened?
Is my will too dry?
Is good sense too sharpened?
Must I make do with only ‘survive’?
Is only for souls that are dead
Or those under entrapment.
Mine roams old and free
And hungers for so much more
Than all the love to be gained from thee.
This maybe an old soul
This time finite
Your love solid, gold
But, your beauty is not enough
For me to subsume in all this world.
My dream of youth
Belief in endless possibilities.
Nothing more cherished
Can come of growing old with you
Than together living thus,
In our dream of youth.