On this seemingly fruitless journey, we have been waiting.
Haltingly going neither backwards nor upwards-
Floating between the intermediary of who we dreamed to become
that which our reflections mockingly produce.
we make gods of our bodies
and starve passion through the unwritten literature of our souls.
we are searching,
searching perhaps for that which we lost long before this journey began.
searching greater still, for that which our hands have not formed
nor our minds fathomed.
And They tell us-
that we are dreaming larger than we can become-
Because becoming has never been
in our power-