The Dreams of Dead Women
I dream the dreams of dead women
Of Victoria and Joan and Anne
I see their vision and hope their hopes
And drown in their sea of despair
I wade through the dreams of dead women
And seek their triumphs through death.
I cannot escape from the cry of the graves,
But join in the chorus of screams.
And What if Shakespeare had a sister?
Would she have been just as blessed
With a talent for pointing out my soul
But she wouldn’t even have a chance.
For the dreams of dead women confound me,
They’ve coursed their way into my soul.
Women who only needed that one chance
To shine and work and live out their dreams.
We still are the disenfranchised
Along with the old and the young.
And those who won’t fit into man’s little box
We lose at the turn of the tide.