There comes a time
When we must give up on hope
Where our dreams must go
Now literally- not figuratively
Out the window.
I’ve tossed away my books
Their well-worn, dog-eared pages
Lay moisten by the wet pavement of the sidewalk
With them lay my notebooks
Filled with my prose, poetry and stories
That no one ever got to read.
I remember thinking once
How famous I would be if anyone
Could read my writing,
But now I understand the importance
Of throwing away fantasy
In favor a more substantial goal.
Still yet,
I keep one notebook
With the hopes that maybe
One day when I am gone
Someone will find it
Faded with time and age
So that it will give them hope.
My best wish is this-
Let them not have a window.