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Disappointment is a cold, inadequate, mealAlone on the chipped plate of the ideal
Will our dreams ever thrive on such a course?
Oh, empty heart, that starves for something we will not name
And carries a churning hunger we cannot tame!
You search for a victim you can finally blame
For a life filled with empty remorse
To round out your meal as a final course!
But a hunger, so sated with praise and blame
Can never fill this hollow frame
Nor strengthen the pilgrim's onward course
To bring him to that sanctified, and satisfied, source!
Only with the simplest, and most honest, meal
Not on disappointment or the ideal
Will our dreams fully survive, and thrive...
On the real.
