Castles in Spain fly on wings of a dream
Idle thoughts nought more than dulled reckless gleam,
Faint glimmer of hope one desire long inbred,
Time moulds each man’s dream into one fragile thread,
To leave but shadows of what he’d hoped to be
Like echoes of the words he wished he’d said.
Is this all that I am or will ever be
In patient pattern flowing until one drifts dead,
Ne’ermore to know the flight of the dream forlorn,
That dream shining bright waits wasted and worn.
The fabric of life ’bout us vaguely closes
And weaving its web chains in cadence imposes,
While years swiftly flee as passionless dawn,
That heart which in hope covets distant land,
Takes time to kindly glimpse the days long gone
When chance was his to leave or to command.
These years of mem’ry like those past cloud worn
Instill not the fear but the value scorn,
The face of reality makes dream fantasy
While far castles in Spain mark man’s sad heresy.