They don't listen

It sure is exciting, to dream,
Of something you start from scratch.
To nurture, nourish, give it all, your blood, your sweat,
And hoping that it would grow, into something, something.

Is it that simple? Sadly, no.
Everybody dreams, big deal.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
Heard this before? No?

A Russian roulette, almost, they seem, these dreams.
One wrong move, one bullet, and you are dead.
Aspirations evaporate, the silence deafening, almost.
What next time? There’s no next time

Bull shit, we know better, the dreams say,
Feeble as they are, but they don’t listen.
They haunt you in their reincarnations.
Logic? Forget it. They just don’t listen.

So you set out again, first reluctantly, then readily.
I will give it all, you say, again.
If not that, at least this,
And so you start, stronger, wiser, and even greedier.

Dream big, like REAL big, they always say,
Cause when targets are high, sky high, the rest follows.
You may stop a step before, two maybe,
But it’s still good, say eight on ten, is still good.

But that’s the bitch.
I appreciate, yet I want the last two.
Of course, if I try, I will reach eight, won’t I?
But I also want that last two.