Every mighty castle ever erected over a cliff,
Was once but a dream in the builder’s eye,
A scratch over vellum, a drawing on the sand,
A need for a kingdom, a hope for the poor,
A golden chain for the village yearning to sleep at its doors.
Every mighty liner that ever cruised the sea,
Started as a paper boat in a child’s sleep.
A blue print on the engineer’s table, a wooden
Board in the carpenter’s workshop,
A beam of steel challenging the foreman’s workforce.
Every mighty poem that ever touched a heart,
Began as a lost word, roaming the poet’s mind.
A tinkle, a flow, balls of papers scattered on the floor,
A sight, a tear, the hitting of a forehead against a wall.
Everything mighty that ever mattered, was born
Out of nothing, like a void -a hunger for creation,
A painful frustration screamed against the night
Sky, swollen knees, redden eyes, a prayer,
A wish, a ghost that very few could see,
A portal to another dimension,
Charged with possibilities.
And we dreamed.
And we dared.
We clashed our heads against the window pane.
We lost, we failed. We pleaded in vain.
We hung upside down. We mown ideas in our heads.
We twisted our vision and straightened it out again.
And we held on. Over and over. Once more.
Until the end. Until the birth. Until
The shadow of the castle stretched over the plain,
And the liner cut the sea in twain.
And the poem made the king weep.
And the country cry.
And we dreamed.
And in dreaming we bred
Fantasies for those to come next,
For poets and builders and sailors
To ache for. To long for. To forge,
To make, to rise, to sail, to cause,
To refine, to render and create,
To impregnate the void with life yet
Again, endlessly, with all that can be
And should be and would be just for
The heck of it.
And nothingness is the
Nest of everything, for those crazy
Enough, brave enough, loving enough
To pay the price for their dreams
To be, flourish, take flight.
For every castle that ever rose,
Started as a prophecy in the builder’s eye.