The Cost Of A Dream

It is ever the curse of the artist to have their creations,

the offspring of their hearts, perish again and again.

Yet like a tragic phoenix they are reborn.

To only once more fall prey to the harsh truth of the world.

That this is no place for unguarded innocence.

Still they make of it a sacrifice.

In the hope that what is given to the future,

is greater than what was taken from the past.

Where they only see beauty, well,

the world has far too many eyes!

So it will never behold their truth.

I personally find all this heartbreaking,

and would put this question to all romantics.

How many times must we kill your aspirations?