Dreams of the Dead, the Lost and the Free

I dream of a boy with dark skin and a darker smile,

Who tells me, "I am you, and you are me,

Denying it is foolish." To which I reply, "No,

You were me, and I was you. Our paths were separated,

By an ever-widening chasm of choice.

Yours took you into the dark places, and mine took me into the woods.

You were alone, while I was surrounded by life.

You walked in darkness, while I looked to the light that filtered through the foliage.

You died alone, while I lived surrounded by those I loved.

You died alone," I repeat softly.

"You died alone."

The boy, his smile vanishes, and I see him as he was;

A reckless boy, a carefree boy, a curious boy, a lost boy,

The roads were not kind to him.

He melts like sorrow into the snow, leaving behind only a spectre of regret and a single drop of blood,

Frozen into the snows a thousand years past.

I look at that drop for some while,

Then I turn away, bare feet treading heavily on the brittle snow,

Envy in my heart for the lost boy.

I do not envy his destiny, or the paths he chose,

I do not regret my destiny, or the paths I chose,

I simply envy his freedom.

The living have more chains than the dead;

The dead do not have to bear regrets.