We'Re Floating Endlessly Poem by Wes Thompson

trading hands with a hero
doesn't loosen the knot
fate slipped 'round your neck
before you were taught
that the stars are all dead
even though they bleed light
ghost-like echoes of hope
mayday flares in the night
and you may stray from the path
let your wings taste the breeze
and the warm rain that's pulled
from the cool summer seas
and if you find yourself lonesome
living life as a gull
then sharpen your hunger
and beg your feathers to fall
for ashes will be ashes
as dust will be dust
trade your dreams for a paycheck
sell your soul if you must