Our Gift

By
The boundless sky, in its multitude, never seems to end,
But yet I'm told everything must have a start.
So at some point, within that endless blue,
Lies a heart, a start, that begins and ends with you.

For we are the dreamers, those who gaze into the never-ending.
We are the ones who see no ceiling but the sky:
That never-ending, boundless void
That is there until we die and cannot be destroyed.

It's our hope, our future, our possible repose;
Everything that will happen or has and may again:
That distant, never-ending, hopeful space,
That is the gift of every creed and race.

It cannot be willed, conquered or controlled;
It cannot be destroyed but always will remain:
That ever-present, never-ending, stellar plain
That is the birth and resting place of all our hope and love and pain.

And no matter how hopeless or bleak things may get or seem,
Up there is a future, up there is a dream.





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