Chasing the Next Dream March 22, 2006 (Revised October 6, 2013)
The night pass'd into day with me alone,
And I, another moment fill'd with desire,
To ponder in my dreams, come what may.
People oft inquire of my desires:
My retort, to say: "'Tis love, and no more."
Yet, as I hearken upon this conundrum
Examining from whence it arrived,
Sweetness conjures images in my limp mind:
That being stated as I hoist my net,
I commence chasing the next dream,
Pacifying my soul, resting me assured,
As I find solace that at least I tried.
It doth appear the specter is a big fetch,
More than a tall blonde, a long-legged lass.
She appears a lady in ev'ry sense of the term,
With no blank countenance, but an artists' rendering.
She is betrothed to aesthetics, of divine philosophy
My soul hath long sought since I recall not when,
Whose light hath branded me her faithful servant
As I am hers; thy seal claims me to be.
I may embrace her prior to arriving at the Horizon,
But I had best grab hold before the sunrise,
Or the loving breath of night shall wither
And render me redundant to yesterday
As I chased the next dream ad nauseum.
And I, another moment fill'd with desire,
To ponder in my dreams, come what may.
People oft inquire of my desires:
My retort, to say: "'Tis love, and no more."
Yet, as I hearken upon this conundrum
Examining from whence it arrived,
Sweetness conjures images in my limp mind:
That being stated as I hoist my net,
I commence chasing the next dream,
Pacifying my soul, resting me assured,
As I find solace that at least I tried.
It doth appear the specter is a big fetch,
More than a tall blonde, a long-legged lass.
She appears a lady in ev'ry sense of the term,
With no blank countenance, but an artists' rendering.
She is betrothed to aesthetics, of divine philosophy
My soul hath long sought since I recall not when,
Whose light hath branded me her faithful servant
As I am hers; thy seal claims me to be.
I may embrace her prior to arriving at the Horizon,
But I had best grab hold before the sunrise,
Or the loving breath of night shall wither
And render me redundant to yesterday
As I chased the next dream ad nauseum.
Chasing dreams seems my calling,
So I have been told by analysts.
'Tis all well till the lack of a harvest
Borne from wanton of her fruits.
Each revolution is a gamble roll'd with die:
You will win or lose in accord with Chance,
Yet still, I yearn for a love so thrilling
I only locate upon reaching the sun.
So I have been told by analysts.
'Tis all well till the lack of a harvest
Borne from wanton of her fruits.
Each revolution is a gamble roll'd with die:
You will win or lose in accord with Chance,
Yet still, I yearn for a love so thrilling
I only locate upon reaching the sun.
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