My fantasies have gone.

Now do I remember when I longed for rest, To lie in cool silence, with the tender fingers of wind gently caressing my hair, and a blanket resting comfort against my lonely flesh. I would lay, eyes closed, teetering on the brink of alertness, convincing myself the dreams of imagination were my reality, would I only to look up and see the divine angels of mercy beckoning to my salvation. I would dream of compassion, and love, and of tenderness, and of all the concepts of understanding and mercy. I would dream of nurturing women, and of wise, understanding men. I would dream of success, and wealth, and of happiness I would derive from sharing my riches with my family. I imagined the gratitude in a parents face as I donated the money to the surgery their child needed. I nestled in the concept of passion, mixed with a genuine concern for my wellbeing, rescuing me from the hatred of life. A mothers love for her child, which had eluded my existence, suspended somewhere amongst the concoction of physical pleasure I never could discern. I could only dip my finger into that challis, none the concerned for what the dab of pleasure was, it was there. Now do I long for sleep, avoiding the familiar, now hollow, scenes that danced in a child's head of imagination. Now, finally at 40, do I surrender to the true nature of life, in my heart. No longer do the hopes of rescue sugar plum fairy dance in my soul. Gone is the need for hope, or compassion, or passion, or trust. "Now I lay me down to weep, I know the Lord my soul will keep Please let me die before I wake, I pray to Jesus my soul to take" Empty is life void of dreams, and hope. Sleep, when it finds me, has but the prospect of holding me forever, lest I would forsake it. Nevermore can I trick my cold heart to hold the opening of mine eyes, while a delusion prances in my imagination of what is. Forsaken is the illusion of nurturing women, and wise men. My life is without asset, therefore merit. Shattered are the ambitions to life's understanding, and success, as such cold a place is this I cannot long to stay, for love or money. Hold me now slumber. Let your ignorance bliss shadow me forever from what is. Release me only unto death as he is your cousin. Darkness will grant me bliss once again, and oblivion will be tender to me. Death now holds my fantasies.