A Mr. Holland Rant

Love explosion dreams have to
come at the end of something,
retirement or moving away
or death. Attending the funeral
of whatever it is that is dying,
the great fountain of love,
fills the hall, forgotten faces
who all remember, my own
fraction of fame.

I dream of love explosions
like everyone does
but love always fails.
Maybe it goes one way, unrequited,
or the flesh of love is weak,
and time eats away at the actors.
Maybe there just wasn't
that much to begin with.
When I wake up, nobody comes
to the party that I have ended up
planning myself.