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Poem

It's not easy to give up a dream.
In fact, I can't do it.
The burning hunger never dies
Even as the times and locations change
Into horrifying masks,
Irrecognizable from your short-sighted expectations.
The stupefying trick of life being: You propose a gift to yourself.
In return you get the blending colors of your painted dreams;
The self-alterating unconscious,
The man behind the wheel who has no notion
Of a wheel in front of him.
He's too busy dreaming of the moment 
He drives the car into the open green day
To realize there's never
Been a lack of motion,
A lack of a wheel,
A lack of an open road.
You dream in black and white
As you live in profound color.
A magnet to passion
Entangled as you are 
By a lurid and wondrous grief.
The grief of infinite options
As you turn the wheel once again:

Here plows you through your garden of troubles
Smile and rejoice and love man's holy rubble.
You dream your own magic. 
So stay true, keep bold, 
And declare your own flag.

And, yes, it may burn through the night.
But the night is cold, and dark, and good.

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