As a child he dreamt of becoming an astronomer
But only shared with scientists the compulsion to turn his head upward and into the heavens
Gazing at the millions of stars
Flecks of light snow smattered across winter skies
And he soon found his life rested upon dreams inspired by illuminations

A life spent in these fantasies is misspent for many
A life of wasted opportunities and flights of fancy
Of impulsive, improbable changes
Of directions left and right but never forward

And yet for a sad few, hope for something more is beyond impulsion
It is instinct
It is inherent
It is a part of one's make up
It cannot be folded up and put away

Drifting between homes and hopes, seeking solace
Seeking fulfilment
And so he continued to look up at the stars for an eternity
As his life melted by
And satisfaction was eluded

Wayward life, it truly was
Never reaching port nor true place to rest
Forever moving, forever searching
As the brilliant lights above continued to tease

Time passed, days became months and years
Potential was never reached
But not born of laziness or sloth
But because, sometimes, for these sad few
Their dreams can never be

Teasing, shimmering diamonds in the night became only an accursed reminder
Of the promise that once was
Grey hairs, haggard visage and twisted form bowing in respect
Admitting defeat
And with last breath eyeing the unclaimed reward in that cold winter sky

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