What we have is nothing more
Than wishes in a glass
We sip and taste and try to paste
The present with the past

Promises like patchwork quilts
To blanket our regrets
Pretty things all sewn between
The lines of our neglect

A work in progress never finished
Like the Art of Zen
You realize you’re nothing more
Than what you’ve never been

The simple fact is what we have
Is nothing like we thought
A twisted point of reference
That can easily be taught

Our passion was as fire
Fueled by longings of the soul
It burned down to an ember
And eventually went cold

For once we have the things
That we desire with all our heart
They turn into possessions
And then quickly fall apart

What we have is more or less
Some memories in a glass
We raise them as a toast to ghosts
and loves that never last

Getting drunk on what could be
So high on never was
The remnants of a perfect dream
The essence of true loss

TM DiSarro

©2020 TM DiSarro/MindScapes Publishing


NEW BOOK AVAILABLE:  getbook.at/thebushman

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