Every once in a while

I’d get a sudden feeling of hope of a better future.
As if it was now that the life I was living
Would start more closely resembling
The life I was dreaming of.

But like the ghosts of people past,
These feelings fade,
Leaving me only with the knowledge
That they had once existed
And nothing more.

(For my dreams are written in sand,
Going out with the tide each day;
Going out till there’s no more sand
To wash away.)