The Elusive Dream

The lone traveller trudges through the woods,
cool draft soothing the raging brow,
prophets of the pale orb clash with the green;
yet the dappled sea wears the veil.

Fairies of lore flit through his sight,
their wispy robes flecked with snow,
tiaras glittering on majestic brows,
and the traveller sighs;
yet the flame burns on

They tell him he is the Greek,
a wave,
floundering amidst the sea,
yearning for a glimpse of the white velvet arch;
yet the flame burns on.

The wild all but confounds him,
beguiling at every turn,
shrouded and unworn paths lie half-hidden in shadow,
and the light is concealed;
yet the flame burns on.

Like a mirage it hovers close at hand,
forever rising in oblivion.
The traveller tries to wind his way,
but life has fled the pattens;
yet the flame burns on.


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