Dear, what is a dream but a reflection,
A glass mirror of opportunity
Shining bright like diamonds amongst the sun?
If but to gaze into the other side,
Another world beyond reality,
To relish in thoughts far beyond my grasp;
I would risk my very heart and soul, yet
I know too well that dreams are only dreams.
An Eden created for ones like me:
Dark, brooding, sullied with many countless lies,
Broken dreams, promises long forgotten
By a world that never cared;I say
That my dream is but to write all my thoughts
So that the world can understand the soul,
The essence of the human existence.
"This is the thing that I was born to do."
My words breathe forth the life in souless beings
To look beyond this shallow, petty life,
And look within to find one's inner self.
I am a writer of the human heart,
A vagabond you either love or hate.
Your loving muse, IceDragonOfPluto.