They are found in shooting stars,
and in flying dandelion seeds,
seen in extinguished birthday candles,
and also in other men’s deeds.
They have made lunatics of greats,
yet they are the power of braves.
They have made people attempt
to raise loved ones from their graves.
Sometimes they nibble the insides
of my mind, they slowly gnaw,
until I am certain that they will
one day consume me, raw.
Then there are those times, when
they give me bliss that’s pure.
They make me overeat my elation,
and leave me wanting for more.
My oldest friends, they are,
they keep me on my toes.
But when there are too many of them,
they turn into my worst foes.
Why do I end up believing
that a blown eyelash will cure?
Why am I always dreaming,
when I know that I remain unsure?
Is there a way to comprehend
if these wishes will come true?
Or do I have to be only content
with fulfilled ones, so few?
I am with this knowledge, though,
my wishes are known for rebirth.
They make me the man that I am.
In me, you shall find no dearth.