[Plaz: I know what you mean by the overwhelming amount of self-gratification in this forum (per your response to harasser's post). And I think that's okay, because it's not just a place to come and show off your writing, as perhaps it should be. It's become a place to explore self for a lot of people. And while I've let that be my main reason for posting here a lot of the time, I never lose my desire to create a version of the English language that is all my own. For reminding me of this, I'm making a dedication. 
]
The seemingly wizened old man strolled past
a young boy sitting atop a pile of dreams.
Not one to hurry by as in his youth,
the seemingly dying old man stopped to inquire,
"Of what dreams are these? Strewn here
and relegated to passing time as a toy
for a young boy who knows not the toil of men who give their lives for such things?"
And the large blue eyes, set in the face
too small for the knowledge living there,
turned their gaze upon the seemingly silent old man.
And he laughed. Chuckling still as he swept his arms wide.
"These dreams here? Are the things you see what they seem to be? I am not here to pass my time
with games and toys, as your eyes would believe."
And as his face turned away the seemingly concerned old man was struck again by the
fair blond hair and the innocent hands.
As many of the world it was easy for him to
replace the truth of his experience
- of only a moment before -
with the visions his eyes placed before him.
I'll not let his big words fool me,thought the man,
rather I'll keep him here until his mother comes.
Perhaps even return these dreams in time if I'm able.
And so the old man began with empty attempts
to dazzle the seemingly young boy and keep him still.
His efforts in vain, for the small creature
did not abandon his perch nor pay any attention to the
promises of shiny things and threats that fear brings.
After a time, as the reflection of light changed
it's pattern - dancing across the pavement and sweat,
dirt and garbage, half-eaten lunches, half-desired trinkets,
unread pages of obscure books, streetlights blinking at traffic of an earlier day,
seldom-used crosswalks, an abandoned newsstand,
and abandoned cars in an abandoned city -
the old man grew weary of speaking.
More tired still of a seemingly useless effort to
provoke a reaction from the child.
"Why do you not run about," begged the seeming elder-soul,
"and shout over silly things, or cry for you mother
as all young boys do? What holds you here and keeps these dreams from their rightful place in
the hearts of men?"
Even his desparate cry warranted no response
from the seemingly indifferent child who watched
the silence. There was a reverance in him.
But the old man could not see it for smallness of hands and the blondness of his hair.
As dusk fell on the street that was empty
but for a boy, an elder, and the dreams of men,
the old one found himself thinking that he'd wait a moment more.
His mother will be along, surely, for no one
would leave a small child to the nighttime of a place such as this.
I'll bide here for her arrival and find the meaning hiding here.
So he lowered his aches onto the ground beside
the spot where he had stood just before. And as
night fell he noticed not the anxious manner of his
seemingly young companion.
Yet at the sound of the first tear hitting the ground
he turned to gaze into the blue eyes,
and their age betrayed themselves to be wise beyond
the years of the old man. Beyond in fact the years of the world.
"I have come to this place every day now,
to hold onto all these dreams that somehow
the world of men have lost their faith for.
Of all my tasks this is the one I dread most,
keeping watch lest some wayward host
steal from them the last chance to be given
to redeem themselves of their misplaced dreams."
And still the old man did not grasp the meaning of the
words spoken by the blond-haired cherub.
"But who could steal the dreams of mankind? As they
are the very thing that cannot be taken from a heart
whose every other hope has been stripped clean
from his grasp at the hands of destiny."
He glanced again as a small, lonely child
sighed in a way that spoke of all the pain one world
can know, and he turned to the old man to tell his tale.
"Once I knew a world where a dream was enough to
keep a man happy for all of his days.
Once I watched over a world that knew how to rule
itself without limits, no fear of decay.
I traveled among the stars, and I watched them all change.
Saw the fear overtake them, saw the wars waged.
Faith is so simple yet impossible to fake
so they used it to kill their dreams, and honesty forsake."
At this the seemingly young boy paused to hang his head and
let the wind blow alone through the empty buildings.
When he looked up once more, it was with a grim smile.
"I watched this all unfold from my place in the stars.
No warning was great enough, no threat harsh enough and
no effort worth enough for men to heed me.
You see a dream needs faith to breathe for it,
that no person may turn away from faith and hope to keep their dreams.
And dreams are what keep them from hating themselves,
killing each other and giving up on the gifts this world brings.
Whilst they kept faith among them they made it
an ugly thing by turning it into a love greater
than what they knew for their own heart.
And any man who worships what he has no hope to possess
shall never know the peace of realizing his dreams.
"When the last one of you turned away to
live for the purpose of death, that was the moment
that I left my lofty place to come to this street.
I gathered all the dreams that you traded for the
promises on your television sets and computer screens,
and I piled them up here and threw myself on top
to keep them a while in the hopes that you'll see.
They won't allow me to hold them much more,
so that every day I wait the hope that remains
says its parting words to the dreams it has known.
Without your dreams mankind will give way to
evolution's next step, whatever is chosen.
Only through your dreams did you have the chance to
change all the centuries of biological rule in this world.
"So much more than sleep you'll lose without your dreams
until your waking hours will haunt you the more
than any nightmare ever knew how. I wish you could see.
But in all the days I've sat here and bided time to please give you a chance
I've lost the desire to help you much more.
For only one seemingly old man has bothered to question
what a seemingly young boy was doing here.
They pass and believe that a dream is for a child only
and take things as what they seem to be.
So tell whom you can, warn whom you must
for I'll leave my place here quite soon.
Take this one back, it was yours from the start, so
maybe they'll listen to you."
And the old young boy reached into the pile that was growing so dim,
to hand the old man a dream he had known that had once
been important to him.
Back into the world went this old man, (he had not
really left it at all you see,
Only stopped to listen to a voice that had called from a place he had forgotten to love).
Armed with a single dream he fought to reach as many people as would heed him,
and showed them each one this single dream to
awaken them to the dangers they had forgotten to face.
And some of them listened and hurried home to stop
a future from happening that they knew would end them all.
The dream? What details could you need?
If you haven't forgotten you'll know what a dream can
be to each one of us.
Don't let yours go.
[ 20 October 2002: Message edited by: Dagny ]
]The seemingly wizened old man strolled past
a young boy sitting atop a pile of dreams.
Not one to hurry by as in his youth,
the seemingly dying old man stopped to inquire,
"Of what dreams are these? Strewn here
and relegated to passing time as a toy
for a young boy who knows not the toil of men who give their lives for such things?"
And the large blue eyes, set in the face
too small for the knowledge living there,
turned their gaze upon the seemingly silent old man.
And he laughed. Chuckling still as he swept his arms wide.
"These dreams here? Are the things you see what they seem to be? I am not here to pass my time
with games and toys, as your eyes would believe."
And as his face turned away the seemingly concerned old man was struck again by the
fair blond hair and the innocent hands.
As many of the world it was easy for him to
replace the truth of his experience
- of only a moment before -
with the visions his eyes placed before him.
I'll not let his big words fool me,thought the man,
rather I'll keep him here until his mother comes.
Perhaps even return these dreams in time if I'm able.
And so the old man began with empty attempts
to dazzle the seemingly young boy and keep him still.
His efforts in vain, for the small creature
did not abandon his perch nor pay any attention to the
promises of shiny things and threats that fear brings.
After a time, as the reflection of light changed
it's pattern - dancing across the pavement and sweat,
dirt and garbage, half-eaten lunches, half-desired trinkets,
unread pages of obscure books, streetlights blinking at traffic of an earlier day,
seldom-used crosswalks, an abandoned newsstand,
and abandoned cars in an abandoned city -
the old man grew weary of speaking.
More tired still of a seemingly useless effort to
provoke a reaction from the child.
"Why do you not run about," begged the seeming elder-soul,
"and shout over silly things, or cry for you mother
as all young boys do? What holds you here and keeps these dreams from their rightful place in
the hearts of men?"
Even his desparate cry warranted no response
from the seemingly indifferent child who watched
the silence. There was a reverance in him.
But the old man could not see it for smallness of hands and the blondness of his hair.
As dusk fell on the street that was empty
but for a boy, an elder, and the dreams of men,
the old one found himself thinking that he'd wait a moment more.
His mother will be along, surely, for no one
would leave a small child to the nighttime of a place such as this.
I'll bide here for her arrival and find the meaning hiding here.
So he lowered his aches onto the ground beside
the spot where he had stood just before. And as
night fell he noticed not the anxious manner of his
seemingly young companion.
Yet at the sound of the first tear hitting the ground
he turned to gaze into the blue eyes,
and their age betrayed themselves to be wise beyond
the years of the old man. Beyond in fact the years of the world.
"I have come to this place every day now,
to hold onto all these dreams that somehow
the world of men have lost their faith for.
Of all my tasks this is the one I dread most,
keeping watch lest some wayward host
steal from them the last chance to be given
to redeem themselves of their misplaced dreams."
And still the old man did not grasp the meaning of the
words spoken by the blond-haired cherub.
"But who could steal the dreams of mankind? As they
are the very thing that cannot be taken from a heart
whose every other hope has been stripped clean
from his grasp at the hands of destiny."
He glanced again as a small, lonely child
sighed in a way that spoke of all the pain one world
can know, and he turned to the old man to tell his tale.
"Once I knew a world where a dream was enough to
keep a man happy for all of his days.
Once I watched over a world that knew how to rule
itself without limits, no fear of decay.
I traveled among the stars, and I watched them all change.
Saw the fear overtake them, saw the wars waged.
Faith is so simple yet impossible to fake
so they used it to kill their dreams, and honesty forsake."
At this the seemingly young boy paused to hang his head and
let the wind blow alone through the empty buildings.
When he looked up once more, it was with a grim smile.
"I watched this all unfold from my place in the stars.
No warning was great enough, no threat harsh enough and
no effort worth enough for men to heed me.
You see a dream needs faith to breathe for it,
that no person may turn away from faith and hope to keep their dreams.
And dreams are what keep them from hating themselves,
killing each other and giving up on the gifts this world brings.
Whilst they kept faith among them they made it
an ugly thing by turning it into a love greater
than what they knew for their own heart.
And any man who worships what he has no hope to possess
shall never know the peace of realizing his dreams.
"When the last one of you turned away to
live for the purpose of death, that was the moment
that I left my lofty place to come to this street.
I gathered all the dreams that you traded for the
promises on your television sets and computer screens,
and I piled them up here and threw myself on top
to keep them a while in the hopes that you'll see.
They won't allow me to hold them much more,
so that every day I wait the hope that remains
says its parting words to the dreams it has known.
Without your dreams mankind will give way to
evolution's next step, whatever is chosen.
Only through your dreams did you have the chance to
change all the centuries of biological rule in this world.
"So much more than sleep you'll lose without your dreams
until your waking hours will haunt you the more
than any nightmare ever knew how. I wish you could see.
But in all the days I've sat here and bided time to please give you a chance
I've lost the desire to help you much more.
For only one seemingly old man has bothered to question
what a seemingly young boy was doing here.
They pass and believe that a dream is for a child only
and take things as what they seem to be.
So tell whom you can, warn whom you must
for I'll leave my place here quite soon.
Take this one back, it was yours from the start, so
maybe they'll listen to you."
And the old young boy reached into the pile that was growing so dim,
to hand the old man a dream he had known that had once
been important to him.
Back into the world went this old man, (he had not
really left it at all you see,
Only stopped to listen to a voice that had called from a place he had forgotten to love).
Armed with a single dream he fought to reach as many people as would heed him,
and showed them each one this single dream to
awaken them to the dangers they had forgotten to face.
And some of them listened and hurried home to stop
a future from happening that they knew would end them all.
The dream? What details could you need?
If you haven't forgotten you'll know what a dream can
be to each one of us.
Don't let yours go.
[ 20 October 2002: Message edited by: Dagny ]
