Spent Dreams

Well this was the first one in the current binge of poems. Started with no reason other than the fact that this title sounds cool. And, well, developed into well a postmortem of success. I am guessing here, not that I have been there. Tell me if you think this is, or is not, the way you felt. Got different reactions for this one. One friend actually thought of making this sound more upbeat. That is optimism for you.

Shattered, the shell that I am
Writhing, in pain in screams
Fearing, my every waking hour
I'm left with, my spent dreams

Was it life that filled me
All through my past, or was it
Nothing more than just a dream
What was it that drove me
I don't know nor care for now it is
Nothing more than just a dream

The dense empty ness filled with monstrous moments
Everything is so bleak and empty and so closed
I know this cannot be me, I cannot be me
I am more than me, because it is always me, me and more me
Success courted me, sweet and unreserved,
Suited me, begged and groveled in front of me
I am more than me, driven by my quest and sustained by my
effort
Why then should i care for the others that lost
I was the best and I won, why spare a thought for the vanquished
Why then is all my victory
Nothing more than just a dream

Shattered, I don't have the strength now
Writhing, my helpless hands
Fearing, the attainment of my wow
I'm left with, my spent dreams

I am done, I am through, I am spent
No one to look up to as I remain
Nothing more than just a dream
Sadness engulfs me as i stare
Into a future that promises to be
Nothing more than just a dream

My goals lie on the wayside, met
But still the path stretches forth
Stretchin ominously, not a reason to continue this madness
But for the end, the deliverance
Too frightened to look ahead, too proud to look back
I trudge on with a hanging head, enduring my own
Personal hell, not a reason to continue this travel
But for the end, the deliverance, the peace to
This torture of my spent dreams

Shattered, my dreams don't fill me anymore
Writhing, it is sorrow or is it shame
Fearing, to look at myself
I'm left with, my spent dreams