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Description
Often with eager eyes and Icarian dreams
I have gazed off to the east, to the sunrise,
and dreamt of escape-
from what, I do not know.

I think myself foolish at times, and perhaps rightly,
for I have no fears nor dangers and no desire to seek them.
But what fairer lands lie beyond this rolling sea
of concrete and familiarity?
What greener pastures?

All my life I've heard the tales of yore,
strangers poor and abandonded
coming back with dreams fulfilled and quiet riches.
If only I could drink of that nectar,
my lips dripping with ambrosia...

But I am not a stranger to this land.
If anything, I am a stranger to myself.
What lies yonder past the rolling hills
in the sky painted by the sun,
I can only close my eyes and imagine.

And yet time ticks by, slowly draining
the life out of this youthful and ambitious passion.
Though I am fully prepared to wait,
thoughtlessly counting each grain of sand
as it meanders down the hourglass,
Those dreams are all my heart beats for.

When age has robbed me of my idealism
and my life is little more than a drying well,
and I am left alone passing my final days
in the numbering of my regrets, I will count this high among them:
My days were spent in the formation of dreams rather than the pursuit of them.