I Became a Realist

the sad face of dreamers,
waking to the life that passed them by.
they follow forever the flame that holds their eyes
they march in place
straight to their graves
they hold their hands, whispers in the air.
what fills our eyes is what makes our lives,
as they kick the dust just to remember the light

the poorly drawn believers,
fading in the towing of the tide.
they sink here forever, stark as stone inside.
they insure their names, in spots on graves,
in the idle hands of idle days. as we fill our lives,
we all realize how we spend our days is
what becomes our lives

sail on quick.
fly past the world.
find me a love