A Dream Turned Real

This evening game
Of catching fireflies in a bottle
And looking at them in the morning,
I have given up.
Where my story ends
From the point onwards
My thoughts begin their journey.
When I had uttered
The first bay words
I could express
All that was inside me.
Now when I have resource
                         to language
I feel almost dumb.
I look at you begging bowl
And realize my own poverty.
No doubt, the one who gets
Is better off than the one who gives
And this secret was whispered to me
                by the sea.