Insufficient Sacrifice.

Insufficient Sacrifice.

How long can one

hold onto a dream,

clutched tight in the cusp

of thier weary hand,

cradled for so long in

the half-mooning of one's heart,

as the soul melts into realizations

of all that is left undone,

while the dream becomes

dust motes floating chaotically,

in sunbeams that 

can never be as bright,

as the gleam in my eyes

back in the summers of my youth.

Life becomes an

escalator running backwards,

no matter how fast

you scramble towards,

what you expected

to find waiting above,

you wind up tragically being

drawn in the opposite direction,

returning back to where it all began.

Love and fame

are prized tickets,

handed to you

quite unexpectedly,

but it is the stages you alone

choose to dance across,

that will bring you warm hugs,

passion and glory,

or simply an alley door exit,

grasping the torn tatters

of another chance,

ripped in half and

no longer worthy,

of the grand everlasting

beauty each one 

once promised.

I am now but a

stretched tendril,

of all that I hoped to be,

spanning many years

of being pulled by fate,

into something resembling

a single guitar string,

tightly strung out as

the final note wails,

all of the sorrows

of what I was,

unable to ever

truly orchestrate.