There are day reveries and rapid eye motion
And there are the dreams that never sleep on you.
The type that makes you search,
For the idyllic, the standard set by yourself,
Reachable by sweat and toil.
But what do we do, when the dreams
Are too tall, too steep, too costly,
To our never-ending perseverance
What do we do, with those footprints left on sand,
The same mounds of wet sand, found on the inside
Of our dream-prone hearts.
Where castles used to stand.