Memory

I gaze in amazement at thoughts beyond my dreams,

Where nothing in reality unfolds as it seems.

I recall the history of people who once thrived,

In a place so remote, seemingly deprived.

They called out to me, a voice clear and profound,

"I'm your father," pointing, "heed the words I expound."

Then, from the depths of a dreary dream I stir,

Where fantasies lived and truths were a blur.

Never did I contemplate the novelty of life,

Nor anticipate good, or wonder rife with strife.

Only memories danced, masquerading as dreams,

In a world where nothing was quite as it seems.

The thought had never crossed my mind,

To live and die, and in dying find,

That perhaps every reality meets a grim end,

And that dreams may truths, in whispers, send.

Believing now what these visions portend,

That reality, too, fades to a memory in the end.

- Jerry N. Bustillo