Requiem for a Dream

Requiem for a Dream
(in the hush of a dream‑worn night)

In a quiet flat where light flickers low,
the echo of a promise lies in shadow,
every hopeful breath a brittle candle,
the colour of hope reduces to wane‑soft.

Smiles are clots of silk in a hard‑sheathed bottle,
a whispered chant that stirs the very air,
a melody of bright flick, a sudden rush—
and yet the song grows impotent, thin.

The city lives in a vein of buzz and worry,
its pavements slick with memories of last misstep,
and each night a procession from the inner nest,
an echo of a dream forgotten.

In the stillness of solitary loss,
the grasslands of ambition wither into dust,
the last door creaks open, there’s no more light,
and the mournful wind sighs tales of what was promised.

Someone’s heart calls out in yearning, crying,
"Save this dream, keep it," but the rhythm fades.

The last breath rests, the sight of life dies,
and the velvet‑blue sky still dreams,
though the world is reality, the dream's a tomb.