The news said that he died in his sleep
But it wasn't really true
He'd been dead for a long lot of years
And never said a word to you
He tried to tell you but you never understood
You never listened when he cried
You never held him when the dark was closing in
And you weren't with him when he died.

His whole life was mere ash in the wind
Ephemeral as rain on sand
Burning out in the pyre of his youth
Washed away like waves on land
He chased the waning embers drifting through the night
Firefly remnants of his dreams
They chilled to icy cinders filling up his heart
And flowed away in bloody streams.

The news said that he died in his sleep
But it happened long ago
When he last whispered into the night
Of fading promises and hope,
I pray they bury me beneath the grassy plain
Where I can see from sky to green
I want to watch the sunlight dancing on my grave
'Cause it's the first I've ever seen.

"Neverland"  Copyright 2001 Offworld Press

music from The Last of the Mohicans

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For a man to become a poet he must be in love, or miserable.  -- Byron