You must reach towards
the edges of the sky.

Beyond the horizon
of a timid
imagination.

For if you don’t,
you may as well
round your
shoulders
and shuffle lifelessly
towards a cold
unwelcoming grave.

Such is the consequence
of uniform ambition.
And not reaching
for the edges
of the blue blue sky.

A significant decision.

Put off until a tomorrow

that might never appear.

And a knowing deep

in tired bones.

Of what he, she,

I must do.

Along with its pain,

consequence and

inexplicable relief.

As I gaze into the world, I realise

that nothing falters in its

ability to reflect what

I’ve come here to see.

My challenge remains

to admit

to what it is

that I’ve seen.

We are fragile. You and me.

Though we act strong,

our lives are

held together with

thoughts of where

we might be tomorrow.

And of disappointed

yesterdays.

At any moment we might shatter.

We might fall to our knees

weighed down by the terror

of being so far from

our own control.

Dare we look up, we’d not know

where to go or what to do.

We are fragile. You and me.

If we were to turn to each other,

we might see the whole

world on their knees.

Hurting, and seemingly alone.

But none of us are.

We are fragile together.

Many had gathered under

the tree of dreams.

All but one stood shaking its

branches for dreams to fall.

Dreams that had been

whispered to them

by the voices of others.

Dreams that would

fade with time.

But one sat quietly,

waiting for a dream

to recognise his soul.

And to consume him

with no doubt.