In Dreams

Do the clouds not sing to you?

Do the hills tell not you stories?

I sometimes think that there’s nothing more beautiful

than an unambitious genius.

Let’s not see unrealised talent as a tragedy.

My dream was not to live my dream

but to keep my dream just a dream,

for dreams can be beautiful all by themselves.

When you live a dream, is it any longer a dream,

or is it a drudgery, a job, a pain in the arse?

Listen to the complaints

of those successful dream-chasers.

Why try and live forever through fame

when a walk on the hills can achieve better results?

Pity the rich, who wake up

making money to make money to make money to make

yet more money;

who are owned, heart and soul,

by their bank accounts;

who spend more time fearing the loss of what they have

than enjoying what they have.

What are you now

and what might you have been instead?

Only the first one matters.