This is the frozen wasteland which, without
a sign of ice, sends freezing winds of doubt
throughout the wild landscape of the mind.
The raging storms are strong enough to blind
any sense of confidence, any thought
of success. Here hope fades and there is not
a soul to challenge the damnation they
face – their phantoms wander, but kept at bay
from true existence … chained in place by weak
masters who are too afraid or too meek
to free what they made – so kill them instead.
A lone figure watches and shakes his head
at the ghosts that never lived. In his hand
the lantern of memory flickers. And
the old watchman, with many years behind
him, silently sits and serves to remind
any who’ve forgotten the reason why
this lost world exists. A sad smile and sigh:
“This is where dreams go to die.”
Completed February 17, 2002. Third place in high school poetry contest.