Colin F. Jones


We grasp at dreams and hollow hope,
Yet with our agonies we must cope,
For dreams deny us strength to view,
What hope will not in us renew.
It is; I am; what more is there,
We greet with hope our ill despair,
To falsify our true repair,
By pretending that we do not care.
Yet all we know is what we feel,
That some things in our minds don’t heal,
That only death will take away,
Despite the good words that we say.
For some things we don’t try to keep,
Remain to wake us from our sleep.