Lynn White writes

Golden People

We were the golden people then, 

flying high above the rest,

shimmering like the arrogant angels 

we saw playing way above the clouds.

We could almost touch them

with our arms outstretched

as we danced our way through 

a youth of endless possibilities.

But the grey people were unimpressed.

They had no wish to touch the angels, 

or reach the stars, even if they could.

They looked down to us, not up.

Laughed and shook their heads

at our strangeness and waited

for our dreams to fracture as theirs had done.

We did not hear the soundtrack of their voices.

Did not see their once golden dreams split open 

and rot away, consuming them in the decay.

Now we have become grey like the rest, tarnished

and knowing that we were not so golden, even then. 

Just practicing for a life that would dull our shine 

as our dreams remained dreams.

Dreams which became decayed imaginings 

growing grey and dusty with time and fading.

Like them, we were consumed in the rot of our dreams

as drabness reclaimed us and the angels let us fall.

Comfort Zone -- Gnana Ponnusamy