Tepid Dreams

 
Is it the dust?
Is it the cold?
Is it the scorching sun?

Did the elements hold a combined session
To rob me of my soul?

I once knew a man who dreamt of touching the sun
And having a feast with celestial biengs.
Youthful,
Fiery,
Bright.
Now when I close my eyes
All I see are bills,
Unpaid taxes,
Unresolved crisis...

Where is the cradle of zeal,
That I may drink.
All I have are tepid thoughts.
Can I dare to dream again?