Why do we fly our dreams
like kites in spring--
and so far ahead of us?
Is it because the gold of day break,
The sugary lumps of winter mountains,
The gaze of a day dreamer,
The myths that hear our silence,
All reside in that far off acre of space
playing together with Peter Pan smiles?
We give beauty
a free, permanent vacation in the distance;
then stick our brick homes
a thousand prayers shy of a touch.
We work for money instead of attention
and wonder why we aren't paid very much.
I believe we all have enough light
and tears in our eyes
to plant our dreams
in our living rooms...
even grow up alongside of them
like sapling siblings.
I think we can move closer
to the shine of our treasures;
and only throw them up in the air
for the sky to catch and hold
at night while we rest.