Sunday Afternoon

Deceivingly simple yet complex in nature. Starts off all bright and cheery but as it progresses, it moves to the realm of despair and eventually, to the state of being resigned.

Today is a pleasant dream.
Lost am I in reverie.
Wake me not from my repose;
I feel alive as I sleep.

Verdant green is what I see,
Over there by the tall trees.
They're dancing, saying hello,
Swaying with the gentle breeze.

Tiny birds that chirp in glee,
Below the vast, cloudy, sea.
A lovely day without woes;
T'is the perfect time for tea.

A warm, joyous, day t'is indeed,
Though other days may not be.
Always have I braced the crows,
But for now, I'm with the bees.

Hearing distant cars and jeeps,
I gaze beyond, on my seat.
Surrounded by thorns and foes;
Roses are not what they seem.

Here am I within so deep.
Oh how gravely do I weep!
Unending do my tears flow;
Pricked back to reality.

Sweet is the honey of bees,
That fly near roses in my dream.
When I wake, I face the crows;
I know they will never go.

Oh how I know they don't leave;
Still I hope for some reprieve.
But the crows, they never go;
How I know they never go.

Author's Note

I'm open to different interpretations of what you think does it mean. Originally, I created this with my own view on what does it mean. Please respond with what you think it means.
Also, please comment about the punctuation I used! I'd like to see comments about my usage of punctuation at each and every line.

To give some context to it, I am an unbeliever. I am currently in a position in life where my personal beliefs and thinking could cause my life to spiral into utter tragedy. I am likewise not straight. I am in a ecotone between being a child and being a grown person. I made this poem at the middle of a Sunday afternoon, at church, at the middle of a preaching, surrounded by beautiful, caring, people whom I've known since I was very young, who've known my parents whilst they were still very young. These people are quite ardent with their convictions; they definitely will not accept me for who I am while others care not for me. The church I attend is an open-building that is surrounded by lush greenery; an auditorium that only has a roof but no walls. The sun shines throughout the space within.

The day this poem was made was deliriously pleasant. It was impossibly real. Pleasant thoughts filled my head to the brim early on, from the time I woke up, quite unlike other days. Sundays usually are the most undesirable days, but not that Sunday.