A Sonnet.

He dreamt an odd dream, but it was his dream,
And he held it close to his trembling heart.
A great waste of thought, is has come to seem:
He watches as it all tumbles apart
Like a Roman watching it all Collapse,
Hating the  thought of what tomorrow brings...
Then the next, and the next as the days elapse,
Each thought conjuring such horrible things!
And with not a soul with whom to confide,
No sympathetic ear to hear his plight,
He must pretend to take it all in stride,
Lest his countenance should come to indict
To the world his daydreams that now shatter...
Carry on, Lad, like it doesn't matter...