He who searches for what does not exist,
Becomes the absence of those things he thought were real
The things he thought he would find,
They have no truth or depth in the fabric of reality
He grew up with visions of how it would be when he was older,
Dreamt how everything fell right into place like the movies
The reality of his errant choices set in some years later,
It showed a gray picture on the giant screen, lost was all color
Maybe he could have done it different, more likely he was just coping with what he had
The decisions he made were the best ones he could fathom at the time
You never see where you are going to land when you are 17 and flying
He knows now that those things made him who he is this morning
It took every ounce of that past to mold him into something real
He is better for the ghosts he has left behind, He accepts his past fervently
For chasing ghosts almost took him away from this life
Though they promised him great earthly dreams
They were no more real than the addiction that kept him drowning
Spectres of an underworld, Perched on their liars' thrones mocking his infinite sorrow
Let them mock now for he found his way out of that tunnel, yet not too far away
For he must always be mindful from which he came, lest he return to its madness
Today he yet dreams of the kinder, gentler things in life,
Yet he is content to have them only if the Lord wishes it so
Accepting his place in this world, regardless of any material assets
He walks down the path, two pennies in his pocket jingling and jangling around
One he is saving for the wishing well, and the other he's carried as a reminder
That money is a symbol of all the evil in this mortal world,
The lust for what one cannot have is a driving force behind much violence and villainy
The dreamer knows that money cannot buy him any of the things he thought he needed
That all of his treasures come from the Lord, Content is he with whatever the Lord provides
This thought takes him out of his morning fog, and he skips along humming an unfamiliar tune.
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