The Dream is Half Empty

across brilliant horizons,
float our burning hopes
towards coasts of golden promise,
among treacherous rocky doubt.

as the lingering dreamers strive,
to transcend glib lives of decline,
in severe postures of indignance,
heaping hosannas unto alibis.

balking at literal endeavor,
by sheltering in the allegory,
euphemistically declaring intent,
without lifting a finger in labor.

yet still do they quiver,
in jubilant fits of expectation,
childlike in yule tide paralysis,
only to waken blind in coal-dust clouds.

what divine case worker determines,
the holy lottery reward?
who deserves anything,
just for dreaming in good faith?