Memories Or Dreams
Age has narrowed my choices and forced
Changes in my ways, so I invent a past
Never really lived and envision a future
That exists only in my secret dreams.
No sorrow have I for the ways of my youth
Just sad the choices are no longer the same.
For in truth this is one shame of aging,
Living now as I must, not as I choose.
Caught between two worlds, the life I’ve lived,
And the life of dreams that I wish were real,
Now I live the way I had chosen because
The body can no longer do the mind’s dreams.
And so I live with memories I never had. Why?
Youth was spent imagining someday futures.
But I awoke to find the future was today
And I had only thoughts, hopes, and dreams.
I am older with some dreams left behind,
But still I think of ways to give myself the
Youth I never lived; thus I have found another
Sorrow of age--living dreams I never had.
If care is not taken, unreal memories
Are given life. Frequently I wish that
Some dreams had been real so today I could
Relive memories instead of unlived dreams.
History slightly rewritten but without harm;
A snip here, a tuck there and what was small
Becomes large and what was undone--done.
A few liberties taken to enhance the past.
But isn't this the privilege of gaining age:
Mixing dreams and memories as if both were
The same, and adlibbing the truth to excite
All who listen even if no one else believes?
Deep inside I know things were
Not as I recount, nor were my deeds
Quite as brave as I like to remember.
But are they memories or dreams?
Don Miller
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