Beneath the moon’s pale, watchful eye,
We whisper dreams to the hollow sky;
A lover’s sigh, a beggar’s plea,
Both lost to what could never be.
For hope, untouched by calloused hand,
Is but a ghost in shifting sand;
A phantom’s tease, a siren’s song,
That lulls the weak, yet moves none along.
Oh, fool! To kneel at fate’s cold shrine,
And pray for harvest without the vine;
To clutch the air, to kiss the breeze,
And call it love, yet stay on knees.
The mind’s delight, so sweet, so vain,
A feast of shadows, void of grain.
What use the spark if none dare blow?
What worth the seed if none dare sow?
So rise, you dreamer, shake the dust;
Let hope be steel, not fleeting lust.
For faith unworked is but a lie,
And heaven’s gates won’t open wide
To those who knock, yet will not try.