The Street of Broken Dreams by Richard Merli

I walk this street of broken dreams,

Where countless others have walked before.

Once I walked among the moonbeams.

But on this street, I dream no more.


I know every crack, every hole, every line,

Where success and failure often divide,

Along the street where I lost my soul.

It’s where a thousand eyes have cried.


All the street lamps are ringed in halos,

While all the city gently sleeps.

A lonesome mouse makes himself known.

Whiskers twitching, he quietly creeps.


In the bright light, I see plastered love:

Luminous hair, skin of porcelain sheen,

A billboard icon, created from above.

Only yesterday, that face was me.


Dream factories churn out cruel illusions,

Natural beauties sold by the pound,

Their images flashed on screens in profusion.

They’re now wilted flowers tossed on the ground.


How soon they cast off the glorious thrall!

Now I have no followers at all,

Except for my shadow on the ground.

And shadows don’t even make a sound


Our dreams are the beating hearts of hope.

But this is the street of cruel illusions.

Here hope is just an unpaid note,

On the road to pain and confusion.


I walk this street of broken dreams,

Where life is masked behind what it seems.

I’m not the first, or the last, to find

When hope is lost, we lose our minds.


Where is the line between falsehood and truth?

I myself no longer can tell.

But surrender your senses to blind pursuit,

And soon you’ll walk the road to Hell.


At the end of the street of broken dreams,

There are bars on the door to the dream factory.

I open the door, and what do I see?

Inside, there’s a thousand more just like me.


I walk this street of broken dreams,

Wrapped in my cloak of pain and sorrow.

On this street, there’s only one guarantee:

I’ll be walking it once again tomorrow.


Someday, perhaps, I’ll summon the heart

To turn the corner of silent screams.

Till then, I’ll just have to play the part

Of a person of many broken dreams.


One thought on “The Street of Broken Dreams by Richard Merli

  1. Pingback: The Greenwich Village Literary Review, Spring 2014 Vol. I, No. 1 | The Greenwich Village Literary Review

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