Expecto Patronum

The Lost Dream

The rays traversed his windows
And over him like a gentle touch,
His eyes fluttered open,
Once again wondering why a new day even came as such

He failed, yet again, for the umpteenth time,
First when he stepped into medical school,
Slowly and silently he buried the writer in him,
Holding a scalpel instead of a pen as his tool.

He made incisions everywhere with his scalpel,
On the living after making on the dead,
Trying hard as yet, to hide cuts that were his own
As he worked to cure the one on the deathbed.

He did his part, yet he lost his man
His efforts to bring him back, all gone in vain
Yet another defeat in his life, this was
He wished he could write again.

The old scar, with pain it seared
Alone and lonely, this morning he sat in his mourning cabin.
Every other person, thus far, he fooled with his smile,
Only he knew the fierce battle that raged within.

A "doctor" he was known to the world,
He sighed, pulling it out from his place,
His sadness and happiness, all lying in it,
His diary knew how he had lost his race.

Mindlessly with his pen he touched,
The precious paper, that he had for aeons yearned for,
Like angina a force crushed his heart
He had been a writer, before things had turned sour.

His hand moved, holding his pen
Words formed from the ink and flowed from his heart,
As something else came down his eyes,
He thought, "we can never drift apart"

The paper,with the completed work, glistened in the ink
And his eyes with tears but not of pain,
He smiled as he rebuilt his dream,
Of becoming a writer once again.

Hi everyone! This is not my first poem as such but rather the first one here. This has a part of my life reflected in it. Have a good day :) Leave your comments :)