Another Clan of Futile Dreamers

Stuck here,
beneath the floor of heaven,
looking wishfully at the stars –
lust is thrust upon us
at the sight of their light;
and with the pen,
we transform our dreams
into a sweet string
of words.

Then we beam with delight –
as we dream of their light –
while what they’re made of fades
as if blazed by our gaze.
But we remain!
Comforted each
by our abilities to capture life:

to capture life with “effortless” clarity
to find the world by withdrawing from it
to string our dreams, and
to share them with a world that crowns us
“Judge” and “Lord!”

Beneficiaries of a deep pride –
a certain certainty of ourselves –
nested in our capacities to listen:

to listen to the muffled murmurs of nature
to speak silence sweetly
to search solemnly within, and bless without
to tame the bestial beauty of the mind,
and of the pen

We –
with our dream machines that write:

another clan of futile dreamers (?)

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© Princely Hope Glorious, 2009

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