There is a quiet ache in chasing a star that the world insists is out of reach. We are often told to be practical, to keep our feet on the solid earth, and to ignore the shimmering visions that haunt our sleep. Yet, the heart is not a machine built for logic; it is a fire that feeds on the "impossible." To pursue a dream that others cannot see is to walk a lonely but luminous road, where the glory is found not just in reaching the destination, but in the sheer bravery of refusing to turn back.

Chasing the Horizon’s Ghost

I build a ladder made of glass and air,
To climb toward heights the cautious do not dare.
A map of places that have never been,
A silent kingdom that no eye has seen.

They speak of gravity, of walls and stone,
Of paths well-trodden and of seeds unsown.
They say the desert cannot yield a rose,
That logic triumphs where the spirit goes.

Yet here I stand, a fool against the tide,
With nothing but this burning spark inside.
The summit is a ghost, a shifting light,
A flickering lantern in the deepest night.

Is it a failure if the peak is missed?
Or if the sun by shadow is dismissed?
The win is in the reach, the straining soul,
The refusal to be broken or made whole.

For I would rather fall from heavens high,
With stardust in my lungs and in my eye,
Than live a life on tethered, steady ground,
Where nothing lost is ever truly found.