Wayward Dreams

and what of the dreams?
sat on shelves and gathering dust
amidst adult alterings and the markings of change
and like exposed silver spoons that gradually rust
those childish desires and ideals of direction
all dispatched to the realities of times' discretion
and existentialists struggles and the sounding toll of career
the acquisition of things that shall inevitably line the drawers
bookcases overflowing with books extolling professionalism's guise
always cloaked in the tails of darkened suits
and the wailing of ever polished leather shoes
what of them now?
they met a belted taught constraining the original glint
considered to be merely a necessary part of the fixture
but important as seams to the tapestry of the present
a reminder of compromises, a few won but all fought
and is the dust a reminder and homage to the those wars that were waged?
an opposite reminder to the incline of age
cherished memory within folds of the wisened wrinkle of the ageing brow
the youthful glee still in an advisory sentence's twist
a glint in the eye at the sip of Friday beer numbered three
and the echoed note of a familiar song
so what of the dreams, what of them now?