Hey, another poem! With every one I do I feel less lame about it :)
You always talk about
A wistful look in your eye.
But that’s all you have, isn't it?-
These hopes and wishes and dreams.
They aren’t tanglible- they float
Around the skies, taunting you
Just when it seems you have them caught,
That the world is in your hands to be molded
Into your life,
They shimmy away without a backward glance.
But it isn’t your fault, you say.
It’s them, the ideas that float away.
But I don’t see you reaching
For that ladder by your side!
I don’t see you asking-
Is it only for lack of pride-
Or too much?