The Crimson Dream

This one tires of asking questions,
Accepting life for just how it is.
It does not mean that he is happy with it,
Just tired of always fighting with it.

You see, he struggles with a dream,
A dream that may not come true.
For he walks along the path,
No longer someone beside him who is true.

Yet the dream he holds,
Keeps him moving along that path.
Hoping that with each person he meets,
One might share his path.

For there dancing through the green forest,
Skipping and playing without a care.
There is a child that is smiling,
Underneath the green canopy so fair.

She holds hair as radiant as his,
Yet her eyes belong to another.
He walks along the path alone,
For there is now, no other.

Yet the child continues to play,
Always in the corner of his vision.
Her laughter bringing a smile to his face,
Even as he loses his will to cast the die.

She is his dream,
His hope that cannot die.
For he will not allow it to do so,
No matter the pain that taunts him so.

Yet the more the playing leads him on,
The more her laughs cause him pain.
For each one causes his steps to falter,
His bare chest physically showing the pain.

Even when the blood begins to fall,
Mingled with the tears of his regret.
How might he be able to make this dream real?
Looking at the hands that life deals.

His steps are much slower now,
Yet he continues on.
Down through the canopy it falls,
Pure, white and cold, snow.

She laughs and dances through the white,
Her innocence mimicking the pure light.
Her eyes hold the same sadness though,
That he might lose this fight.

Yet as the white is interrupted by red,
His steps continue on the path.
For there is no longer safety in bed,
Only that of the continuing path.

Though he is continually wracked with the pain,
The red continues its trail.
For the dream continues to make him smile,
Even though he knows he might fail.