To have a wish to sprout wings to fly. Across the horizon, to touch the stars in the sky. Chase the moon in all is phases, the sun being to bright to the eye. Try as i might, the sky refuses to tell a lie, I am still asleep, her voice was not but a good-bye. I wish for her to have been real, Her touch beyond the dream's seal. My flight as fake as her starlight veil. For my escape from living hell to have been real. The embrace, so warm, a pleasant company. Alas, a wench such as me is not ready. Perhaps a day lost in the future will justify my heart. (really bad, not counted, free hand poem.)