A slice of another pie

Slice of Another Pie

If I were to write a song today,
What would I say?
Thirty, forty, fifty years on
and still dreaming,
still writing wistful words that wander
hither and yon.

Too tired to dream? Never.
Too lazy to follow through?
I don’t know if lazy is the word
as much as scared – frightened
not of my shadow
as of the responsibility to create a thing
that casts a shadow.

For fear of burning bright,
How many are content to sit in the dark
and stay quiet,
dreams unspoken,
in the comfort of uneasy silence.
Perhaps this will be the day that I fly,
This will be the day that I fly …