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.