The Dreams - John Buchanan

You asked for a poem on dreams;
I gave up dreaming a long time ago.
You ask…. why?

From the depths of my mind they come
Gaunt faces old and young
Tortured by hunger, cold and loss.

They are beyond fear,
Fear was yesterday’s game.
Today it’s about here and now.

The old give up for the young,
It’s always the same,
And when they fade……Hhm.

The young wander the streets alone
Feral as they search to survive,
Predated on by “factions”,

They’re treated and beaten
In the name of “the cause”
And they’re taught to obey.

They are used for pleasure,
To spy, to kill
And to clear mine fields with their feet.

Young boys, young girls, old eyes.
They should be in school
But the teachers were killed.

Today they’re you friend
They play marbles, eat chocolate
and asking to see your gun.

Tomorrow they’ll throw stones,
count faces and paces
or carry a bomb

I gave up dreaming a long time ago
Don’t ask me why
Coz I’ll cry.

John Carré Buchanan