Knock on a million doors,
and ask each man if he is good.
Be not surprised by the multitude
that qualify for sainthood.

If all it took was a man’s own word
the quarries would be emptied
building statues in their honor
on the corner of every street.

But many men who say they’re good
are at fault for quarrels and wars
and allow their addictions to run rampant
while they ignore the hungry and poor.

Just as the wisest of men
knows that he does not know,
so the best of men will answer you
with a firm and resolute “no.”

Keep record of your faults
don’t lie just to impress,
and tread carefully in the company
of the men who would answer “yes.”

Don’t hang your hat on past triumphs
as if the battle is done.
Don’t hide behind them as the lazy would,
saying “I have no need to fight for good,
you see, I’ve already won!”

For past defeats, don’t hang your head.
You are not the man that lost.
He died that day in that clash,
and you were born from that ash
stronger and wiser for the cost.

Do not die full of regret
because you wasted every today.
Move now, and give yourself no slack.
Don’t waste your time looking back.
You aren’t going that way.

Dear Mr. Sandman,
I pray you don’t balk
at this mere mortal man’s
humble request for a talk.

You see, it’s less request
more a desperate plea
that you might alter the dreams
you bestow nightly to me.

If it helps, I will tell you
it’s not all of my dreams,
just a few in particular
that share one common theme

I mean no offense.
Your art is superb,
but even beautiful art
can sometimes hurt.

“I love you” she says,
and it feels so real
that it makes me forget
the hand I didn’t deal.

For a moment I am flying,
as joyous as the birds -
Not borne down by regrets
caused by unspoken words.

But I come crashing down
when I open up my eyes
for that gift that you gave me
seems better than true life.

Sir, this I implore,
take these dreams away
that I may forget her
one of these days

I wish I didn’t have to.
Until I saw her shining bright
I never knew that a person
could possess such light.

But I let the light slip
and that anguish runs deep.
Now I cannot have her,
not even in my sleep.

He gazed beyond the railing
that seemed less trustworthy now
as the ship rolled amidst frothy waters.

Assaulted by mist on the wind,
white knuckled and knees bent,
he fought the sea for the right to stand.

He called out to his god -
no, he called to any god
that might spare him from the deep.

But she glared beyond the railing
that seemed a trifle now
as the ship bucked fruitlessly beneath her.

Long hair whipping the wind.
Her arms outstretched, she danced
with the squall that fought her.

Entrapped by her eyes,
as gray and determined as the sea,
he cried out to the one who made him forget his god.