A Dream Lies Dead

A dream lies dead—no flowers laid,
No mourning veil, no prayers prayed.
At thirty-five, the weight of years,
A talked-off ear, a well-worn tear.
For a sad lady, skies stay gray,
Time in years—steady—decays.
Distance acts done in empty halls,
Pridefulness fades, the braggart falls.
For want of something better still,
A letter from Lesbia chills.
A fairly sad tale, a certain view,
A pig’s-eye glance at literature’s truth.
Chant for dark hours, cherry white,
Experience dims the fairest light.
A fable told, a coda spun,
Finis writes—our work is done.

Understanding the Poem

The poem begins with stark lamentation:

A dream lies dead—no flowers laid,
No mourning veil, no prayers prayed.

This opening evokes a quiet grief, not marked by ritual or remembrance, but by absence. The lines convey a sense of loss—perhaps of a long-held hope or youthful aspiration—that passes unnoticed and unacknowledged. What follows is a meditation on time, weariness, and emotional erosion. With lines like “a talked-off ear, a well-worn tear,” and “Time in years—steady—decays,” the poem reflects a deepening disillusionment. The speaker, possibly at mid-life, looks back on dreams that have withered, pride that has faded, and ambitions dulled by experience.

Among these reflections lies a significant literary reference:

A letter from Lesbia chills.

To the uninformed reader, the name “Lesbia” may spark anachronistic assumptions. Yet in historical context, Lesbia was the poetic pseudonym used by the Roman poet Catullus to refer to his beloved—his muse and source of both passion and pain. The allusion is deliberate, anchoring the poem in the classical tradition of romantic idealism and heartbreak. By invoking Lesbia, the poet ties their modern lament to a timeless lineage of literary sorrow, expressing not only personal grief but also a critique of the stories and symbols we inherit.

Further lines like “a pig’s-eye glance at literature’s truth” suggest a skeptical view of the narratives we cling to. Idealized tales—romantic or otherwise—often fail to mirror life’s realities. The poem critiques these illusions while acknowledging their persistent influence. It is both an elegy and a quiet rebellion against the polished myths of literature.

The closing lines—

A fable told, a coda spun,
Finis writes—our work is done.

—bring the reflection to an end. Here, “Finis” operates on two levels: the conclusion of the poem and the symbolic closing of a life chapter, or perhaps even life itself. The tone is one of resignation—bittersweet, reflective, and steeped in awareness of passing time.

Such layered poetry requires thoughtful reading. Without historical context, references like “Lesbia” risk being misread, overshadowing the poem’s actual themes. In a world where modern interpretations often dominate literary conversation, context is not merely helpful—it is essential.

Literature, especially poetry, is a cultural artifact shaped by the era in which it was written. Misinterpretation can occur when readers apply present-day perspectives without recognizing the poem’s historical and literary influences. What seems like a simple lament is, in truth, a dialogue across centuries—between ancient love songs and contemporary sorrow, between classical ideals and modern fatigue.

To read poetry well is to read with awareness. It is to honor the bridge between the past and present, and in doing so, to glimpse the fuller truth that lies between the lines.