Requiem for a dream?

They’ve clipped my wings. They do it every day. I am drowning in a tide of paper, stamp ink and grey men and women. They hate themselves. Do I?

I just want to fly for a while. While I can. While I can take the fall.
Can I?

Will you all be there do help me? Will you accept it and repair my broken bones and damaged feathers? Yes, all of you who say you love me for who I am and not for what I do.

Should society tame me and tame my freedom? Can I tame it back?

These are the years. I am still young… but oh so old!

Will I regret it all when I turn eighty-three?


Am I living or just singing requiem for a dream?