A thought, a spirit in the night, calls me like a promise I must keep. We all have intentions, but seldom the deeper dream. We didn't mean to; but now, it's all passed us by. We never did become. So now we are only left with the mocking dream of what never was and could never be.
Reason for writing:
This poem is about the inviolable need to create, the need to become more than complacent. It is about the hunger of time and the restless dream that stirs silently within us all.
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