We all have our share of dreams,
the colossal and the unreal.
Fed, watered and well-kept
yet some, maturity, never get.
A dream is but a willful wish
Until ridden over reality’s streams.
Neither horse nor rider can see ahead,
only odds gleaned from pasts tread.
Such colossal threads we weave,
never checking nor stopping to think.
As life tapestry evolves, so do we.
Fighting breakage and old age
trudging on, making space.
No matter how we wish it be,
for a moment, fulfilled we will never be.