In Only a Show of Life

Can one reach an age beyond dreaming dreams?
Is there some page of life one turns that takes him
From the thunder of wonder to the banality of reality?
Perhaps age is not to blame in this shameful game;
Even the great sage still drinks the cream of dreams!
Is it life itself, then, so rife with pain?
But pain may just as well compel one
To dream of gain as to focus on the train of awful pain!
Is it life unhappy, then, that dries and nullifies dreams?
But it seems, then, one would dream
Of something superlatively supreme!
Maybe it is reaching a state of mind that binds dreams
And, thus, has nothing to do with turning pages of age,
Or even any particular contributor to some condition
Or position in life — it is, rather, a mental transition,
Spiritual attrition, an abolition
Of the mentality of composition
Of dreams as they seem an imposition on certainty;
Yet the authenticity of humanity lies in great part
In the capacity to dream dreams,
Barring no reaching for the stars,
Charming hope without harming . . .
Can one reach an age beyond dreaming dreams?
No, but one can simply stop and drop to the low
Persistence in mere existence in only a show of life . . .
In only a show of Life!