Not A Poem

I have been told many stories..
most of them begin with griefs and pain.
where life looks dull, tedious, and gray.
and as time goes by, the story shifts everything inside.
Where the spoiled appears as dukes and duchess,
Where an ordinary turns into prince or princess,

I have sung many songs..
Where the songwriter creates a garden of wonders.
it makes many dreams come true, and it fades all blue.
rhymes are interesting, melodies are fascinating..
and songs, once again, create a world of pseudo with thousands of amusing things.

They all promise me.
A child whose heart, once, never tasted any bitterness.
Time goes by, they all promise me.
A boy whose heart, once or twice, tasted a foretaste of bitterness.
Time passes by, they still promise me.
A youth whose heart, for many times, tastes daily bitterness.
and like a fool, I listen to their words, whisper hope that seems endless.

Now tell me, my friend..
is every hope equal to vanity?
for I have never seen a glorious end.
I have never had a foretaste of laughter in an "ever after".
An end, told in every wonderful stories I heard, with the peaceful and soft murmuring sounds of the storytellers..
and now..
Should I stop believing?

Finally, I decided to leave this enigma unanswered in my head.
and yes!
let them come.
let answers be spoken by lips and tongues of the awakens..
so that this slumberous man could probably awake,
tis what I see, the man awaits.