Saturday, July 18, 2015

In The Dream

In The Dream

In the dream, I am young again. I am standing by a road, one that is busy with the traffic of life, but sadly the worst has come true. Those who travel by me are life's refugees, rushing away from the pain of old age or infirmity, from disaster or despair, from failure or frustration. All have dark faces and dull eyes that offer me a furtive glance, their cold lips seeming to form an unspoken question, before their stare turns back to the road and some unknown point ahead. I look where they look, but I see only a thick brown fog billowing over the brim of the world.

In the dream, you are young again. You stand by my side with the wind in your hair and the sun on your face, but your expression is troubled. You ask where the road leads and why so many hasten by. Your small hand holds the folds of my sleeve, and with a gentle tug, you question why we remain behind this crowded human parade so persistently passing before us. When I turn to you, I see the uncertainty in your eyes and the impatience of your youth, and I pray that my voice will be strong and resolute as I say simply, "We will wait for these to pass. We are travelling the other way."



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