Dream and Betting

Ah, dreams! Like the wind in spring,
they arrive unbidden, unsettling the calm.
Humankind, with all its reason and logic,
pursues them, knowing they will fade—
but therein lies their beauty.

Betting, dear time,
are you not the truest companion of dreams?
We wager upon a thin line
between courage and folly,
falling, rising, and laughing,
at the absurdity that grins back at us.

It's not merely fate that we gamble with,
but will—ah, free will!
the kind that scorns confinement,
that mocks destiny as it steps forward.
Is there anything grander than this,
when a person dares to stake it all
for a dream they've yet to hold?

Let the world think us mad,
those who only watch, but never leap,
will never know the sweetness of struggle,
that a dream, though but an illusion,
is the truest freedom there is.

This betting is a conquest,
of self, of dreams, of the world,
and with every step, every sardonic grin,
we carve our mark,
as if to defy both heaven and hell,
for in this dream and betting,
humanity stands tall, unconquerable.