There is a reservoir of perfect words waiting to be touched,
But I cannot scale the dam.
I can't get up to this water of life,
No matter how profound I am.

There the greats sail,
The poets who shall survive
The erosion of time, but
Will I see this ocean whilst alive?

I can only drink their gilded overspill,
The aftertaste of nectar from the brim.
I must take in as much as I can
And store it deep within.

Would that I could grasp the heights
And stride the distance set before me!
I want this wall to hold fast against the tide,
But it's as impregnable as it shall ever be.