Shooting for the prize in the sky
Because truly that's the limit right?
Unless that's just something parents tell their children
What happens when you miss?
When dreams get charred in crimson flames
And while gathering the ashes all blows away
Where did the dream go? Where did the hope go?
Can you find the scattered ashes to rebuild it?
And even when you find them, years later
What can you do with a pile of ashes?
It will never be as it once was.
Ice which becomes water does not weigh the same as the previous ice
Fire evaporates some of that mass, it is gone forever
So if the sky is the limit, and you miss what you're aiming for
Then the crash to the ground won't hurt as much as the loss of the dream
What will you do? If your hands miss
The dream you hold so dear?