Beyond the futile dream, reality
Breaks through the mist, sword-sharp, and spear-tip bright.
Life with hard edges knocks against the soft
Of hope unfounded on the solid light.
A dream is not enough, unless we wake
Still holding fast, and bear it into day,
And plant it in this bitter, frost-bound earth,
And let the burning sunshine have its way.
And water it with tears, such tears as fall
From the deep sorrow of all that we are,
The toil of laboured hearts, till sweet-winged grace
Purges the stones and rips apart the scar
Of all our digging. Then the fresh-turned earth
Sings a new song, a melody of light;
And dreams become our wings, and raise us up
To shine into a world that’s steeped in night.
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