DreamersA Poem by PaidynIn no way am I perfect. I am a poet. Therein lies my largest fault, for
as such, I am a dreamer. Have you ever had a dream so intensely beautiful that
when awoken you found your face drenched in tears? The next day you may have
been so consumed in recalling every scrap of memory that you forgot to live,
and you yearned with every particle of your soul for sleep, if only to brush
against the blissful fibers of the night-time thoughts of a subconscious mind.
Then, with every passing day it slowly fades as a lonely voice into malicious
fog, and the fainter it grows, the more insistently rebellious becomes the
voice of hopes and wishes. But dreams aren't life. In dreams, the dead speak
back. In dreams he loves you, and in dreams a kiss is always cold, warm, sweet,
and demanding all at once. But in the end, God must wake us, cruel as never
having dreamed at all. He won't let us live into our own measly scrap of mindly Heaven, He'd
rather we wake and work towards the real thing. But the tears, oh the tears.
When life seems a muddy mucky swamp, the seas of salt then come. When you
thought he loved you, but in the end it was another he was heartsick for, then the
floods come. When you remember the dream, tears come. You wallow in the sadness
and stop living. But dreams aren't real. They
are the flirtings of an empty
mind with creativity. It isn't life. I live in these dreams, therefore, I do not
live life. There is always a tiny insistent voice in the back, changing life in
my eyes and creating new endings. So now I must put down this sheet, start
living, and open my eyes to life. © 2011 PaidynReviews
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1 Review Added on April 10, 2011 Last Updated on April 10, 2011 Author
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