Dream

The dream,
The dream of flying high and keeping your feet grounded.
The dream of Jesus or the dream of Bacchus.
The dream that ended on a rooftop.
The dream that was of togetherness.

Then when the dream has beguiled you to become reality,
adrift in the sky limitless,
found beneath the sky tender, among fires and campfires,
only to realise dreams no more shared.

Jealousy, envy and rage - all rush toward the veins, close and far.
Why?
Why am I not there?
Was it my fault to be born?
And then, finally,
when I look more closely at the photograph,
I shudder. I tremble.
Some dreams, maybe already realised, hence not anymore dream like, are to be kept in tact.
How beautiful, who knows,
you could spoil it !