we hope and we dream,
not for reality,
but for moments and scenes
that are not what they seem
shimmering behind sheens,
sparkling on silver screens
we do not see the deep
cuts, the endless lost sleep
promises they won't keep;
no, we thought love was cheap
so what now of our dream?
still, who are we to deem
that it can't be redeemed
and to now call unclean
these faults that we have seen?
is it beyond our reach
to both learn and to teach
our tongues new ways of speech
to taste something so sweet
we may forgive that heat
and venture to entreat
that we somehow may meet
in the vastness between
our mistakes and our dreams?