My friend once told me of a dream, <br />And despite the blasé tone, <br />Of her otherwise lyrical voice, <br />The words wedged between thoughts <br />And stung like a thorn of unprecedented confusion <br />Her recollections came to my ears as well as my heart, <br /> <br />Dreams and wishes were but tiny clouds, aloft on the wings of a moth, <br />People were all chasing them, but for those who took no interest, <br />Or lost their vision, the cloud grew dark and ultimately vanished <br />Into the throng of chasers and the wisps, <br /> <br />To myself I thought, in a state of complete self indulgence, <br />“Here I have bore witness to one of humanity’s deepest, <br />Yet obvious, secrets of existence, ” <br /> <br />I though for an age how best to put my revelation into words <br />And this simple rhyme is the most and the least my mind could create <br /> <br />-If aspirations flew for you to see <br />-On wings beating a mesmeric pace <br />-Present, daunting and caught easily <br />-Maybe more would be willing to chase<br /><br />Kyle Jones<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/chasers-wisps/
