Philosophical

the dreams are forgotten quickly 
no longer a source of interest 
of mystery 
or even sadness 
they are simply accepted and left to vanquish 
into the ether 
the years 
the words 
the search for fire 
in a dormant soul 
the light is flickering 
the voice is quieting 
the vision of a kindred spirit 
is all but blind hope 
the poet in me 
meanders alone in his thoughts 
that are short and void of secrets 
he no longer hears the call 
no longer seeks the path 
to discovering 
the perfectly articulated 
thought