Chasing the Dreamer through the Foothills of Time

I chase dreams that no one has ever seen before
At the bottoms of wishing wells you may find me
I seek what has never been sought with vitality
I bang upon doors that would seem quite shut
I walked back from the edge of death you see
All but certain that I could no longer dream
I found hope in futility, I found hope and more
Down to my last illusion, I recovered my stare
I saw the awe in the awful and awesome alike
Most of my suffering was of my own design
Yet it served some greater purpose inside of me
Without despair, I could not have found jubilation
The vast stories of my mind have yet to be written
Though they clearly exist and they beckon for release
I am the endless one who tires not at spilling thoughts
The proverbial ink releases demons I have not slain
However I no longer keep records of lesser things
Some people wish to rid their mind of heartache
I too, once wished upon the same silky starlights
Though who would I be without the roads I forged
How could I proclaim to be a writer without a pen
I could never be endless without a story to tell
Yesterday is long ago in a rear view mirror
I pray that my story finds a home one day
That it must not be retold in search of a kindred heart
For I long to put these walking shoes to rest
Their heels have long gave way to the callouses I keep
Trust not that I feel discouraged by the path at hand
Because my maker created a dreamer, who in turn created me
Without questions, our existences would fail to have purpose
With no purpose, I could not stretch to you this tale
What is it that brings you here this evening I wonder
Do you have no where to go besides in the in between
Hold on if you feel like dying, For I have cheated death too
Your heart is more resilient than you will ever know
Take what you want from the words on any page
Use them to understand your own elusiveness
I have no need for them once they leave my soul
Yet I would wish you kindly in the business that  you seek
Of finding yourself when others have forgotten that you exist
No longer do I speak by the aid of a sedative or such
I've given that away too, Among the ways of waywardness
Another open road awaits the ageless traveling man
Him and his endless pad have another date with destiny
Clinging to remaining hope, here in the foot hills of time
He makes his way around the world without another sound