New poetry: Ron Booth: 2015.

Here I am alone at midnight,
sitting looking up at the moonlight
shining through the clouds.
A glass of whiskey in my hand,
wondering what's become of me
and my dreams, my passions!
What have I done with my life?

A nursery ryhme runs through my head...

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily.
Life is but a dream...

My dreams are slipping away,
Fading into oblivion.
Dying in the dark recesses of my mind.
My dreams are slipping away.

I take a long sip of whiskey from my glass, and love the feeling it gives me as it goes straight to my head.
I hear a distant rumble as storm clouds gather. I feel at ease as rain begins to fall
and pitter patters on the conservatory roof, and a streak of lightning flashes in the night sky. It's at times like this I play some moody jazz, you know, something like in those old black and white gangster movies, it's always raining in new york, streets glistening with the reflection of city lights.

I hear that ryhme again...

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily.
Life is but a dream...

My dreams are slipping away.
Fading into oblivion.
Dying in the dark recesses of my mind.
My dreams are slipping away.

I'm at peace sitting here as the rain falls harder, comfortable in my chair as smooth tones of a saxaphone, accompanied by the tinkling sounds of a piano, filter through the air.
Dreaming of some lazy hazy days in the sun... I sigh! remembering happy summer days, laughing and playing, telling stories and dirty jokes about adult things.
Playing games in the heat of the sun,
Ohhhh! what fun we had,
Where did the summers go?
Where has time gone?
Have all those dreams gone too?
Doesn't seem right.

I can't get the ryhme out of my head...

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily.
Life is but a dream...

My dreams are slipping away,
Fading into oblivion.
Dying in the dark recesses of my mind.
My dreams are slipping away.

I remember hot summer nights
walking through the city, everything was alive! with people leaving bars and clubs.
Laughing,  having a good time.
Lovers holding hands, making eyes at each other, then kissing on the lips.
I envied them. Why am I hear?
I should go home, but I'm drawn to this night life. I see women in short skirts.
I wonder what it would be like to have a night of passion, in the heat of passion we want those things dreams are made of.
Then I saw you smiling, as you walked towards me; the city lights held your body in the spotlight. Angel of my dreams.
You sang a ryhme...

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily.
Life is but a dream.

My dreams came true when I met you.
Giving me inspiration.
Creativity shone bright inside my head.
What dreams may come
When we dare to dream.
Love is the reason for such dreams.

Ron Booth
Copyright ©

1.7.2015