Come, join the endless line
Of fanciful creatures fleeing time.
A fiery steel-forged wagon trail,
Or mariners' hearts 'neath black water sails.
On they fly, these myrmidons-
Loyal disciples of their dreams.
Upon my heart, I dreamed it not-
So easily drawn into this trot-
That I should be led by ancient paths
Hidden beneath these asphalt baths.
Still on I fly towards dreams to come-
A slave of this reality.
Beyond the dark of cosmic mists
Where vision clear plagues eyes that resist
That this majestic trek ought die
And awaken dread reality.
Born again in a painful trudge,
Peasants continue to dream of dreams.
Oh how our eyes and hands deceive!
Heavens are Hells they make us believe
And yet to us our hearts cry, nay!
See thee the beauty of this day
And in each night continue thy plight
Upon chimerical trails of morn.
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