If imagination were where worlds are wrought
A thousand worlds of sensual lightborn beauty would I have created.
If passion and will were how things were done
I'd remake a scintillating utopia with every rising sun.

I curse frail flesh
and the limitations it is heir to
Only so much intricate detail in a day
Only so much written in an hour
Time carries on heedless of my desires.
The Universe renders me impotent
on the scale of my dreams
and so each day
I must choose which insignificant fraction
will be made reality.