There was an era long ago,
When dreams could freely age and grow.
But seasons turn,
And times discern
A change in dreaming winds that blow.
The crippled compass now divorced,
With careless chimeras endorsed,
The thoughts surpassed
The shattered glass
Of dreamer's mind now reinforced.
The vague veracity of truth,
Exists in uncorrupted youth.
The frail romance
Of time and chance
Reforms the wilderness with couth.
Instinctively, like nature's brood,
We undergo the shifting moods
Of Moirai's will,
A monstrous hill,
Until we fall and thus conclude:
This destinationless campaign,
Without the dreams is rendered vain.
And soon we see
That dreams are free;
And hence we flee from fortune's chain,
The fetters of our mind's domain.