In the thunder and din of the everyday world
Where your dreams are outweighed by your dues,
With a sensitive ear you can still faintly hear
The sweet crystalline song of the muse.

For the hands, thoughtless labor; the back, endless strain,
While the mind flies unfettered and free.
What the soul finds obscene is the chasm between
What there is, and what could be.

Your legs may be weary, sweat and dust in your eyes,
But you know in your heart you can fly.
It rips holes in your soul to have wings on your back
And yet never be given a sky.

Not by wishes on stars, nor by pennies in ponds
Will cruel gravity offer reprieve,
But through conquering fear and with vision that's clear
You must find enough souls who believe.

-Brendan McWilliams, 2007