Legend tells us that away from the hustle and bustle of life and beyond the light of the setting sun, there is a forest – the emerald forest of imagination. Deep within this forest is the silver pool of glimmering desires. Surrounding the pool, are the grey boulders of regret and on one of those boulders, sat an old man dressed in a tattered black robe. He held his head within his palms and was pulling on his grey hair in anguish.

‘Oh! I had a dream and that dream just died;

Oh! My poor dream has breathed her very last

‘But where has my poor dream vanished away?

You must know, you’re my Present and my Past’

Go and kill them, kill them slowly or kill them fast;

kill them with your abject disinterest and disregard

Kill them for they forgive you their very own murder;

kill them for their hearts are now too badly scarred

Sometimes I wish I could just fade away;

leaving behind no memory, not even a trace

Sometimes I wish I could remove myself;

from this stupid illusion of life and space

The unhappy are forever to remain alone;

for that is the decreed nature of their fate

Happiness, an elusive dream they pursue;

and when they fail, it’s always a wraith