The Rant of Bones

Peek into my childhood, into my frivolous dreams,
I dreamt I could fly, grow feather wings, like those of angels, and take off,
Run off a grassy hill and leave the darkness under me,
I do not dream anymore.
The child has grown into a bitter creature,
Nothing more than crumbling white bones,
The darkness now over me,
My sun bright hair has long since fallen,
The earth devoured it, as it will take my bones too.
But the dreams I had, it cannot take.
I have kept the dreams of the dead past within me,
Under lock and key.
Perhaps these bones can grow wings too,
For now, the bones of that child of yesteryear would like to sleep.