Homesick

I'd die to bare my soul.
My heart screams for justice,
and yet, I just sit here, wasting away.
Poetry dies on my lips,
and the Earth falls away beneath my feet;
I reach out for something, anything,
but all my fingers grasp is the dust of dreams gone by.
You cut yourself loose, and your dreams fly.
Your heart sails away, on butterflies' wings,
hanging on a moonbeam and bathing in fairies' tears.
And the alarm clock goes off, and you awaken
cold in the night.
Reaching out in vain, you scream and you sob and cry.
Have we forgotten what dreams are worth?
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