Prayers on ice


It is accustomed that we dream
of lives that are not ours,
of stars that shine without a light
and treasures locked in drawers.

It is well known we do not like
to suffer or to grief,
yet all we do is praise god's words,
not one being relief.

It is the lies that bury us
knee-deep beneath the truth,
where wishes succumb well before
they reach desired youth.

It is debated that we die
in order known by fate,
and then a soul should search its way
until expiring date.

Amidst all this I live my days,
by meanings of a plight,
and dream the real dream of life,
a sojourn for the night.

And there is where I wish that all
my wishes would come true,
and send them flying in the night,
in ways they would reach you.

And carefully you'd choose just one,
one that would all comprise,
and you would read it to the world,
an old man's last demise:

I wish the world would stop for once
and listen to its lies,
I wish for greed to be all gone
or buried in disguise.

I wish the children to be safe
from illness and from sin,
I wish they'd bid defiance to
a life without a twin.

I wish the best, I wish for all
to live to compromise,
to crave the most inhuman needs
until what's human dies.

I wish the sun would set for good
over the daunting skies,
and wish the moon would whisper songs,
as I would close my eyes...