Who are we to abide, still, by our dreams, the uncivilized renegades that we so often are? We who were born of no money, no power, no prepossessing skills?
Eternally branded with the poverty of time, few are the moments credited to us from before our first breath. And every bob and weave brutally remind us of our last.
Still, we dream.
May our hearts always overwhelm our heads, for the heavens still await our one true measure.
We are the people of the gift, forever charged