After all this time am I still awake?
Or am I still sleeping? One cannot know.
This a colored lens, anxieties take?
I don’t think it would make a difference so,
Our hours, what we perceive to be day,
Are spent towards the twilight leaning;
And what’s imagined to be night will say:
Rest. Awake. Do not spend all time dreaming.
Reality demands a sacrifice.
I will rise and in doing so procure
A dream that has enough blood to suffice.
What does the waking world hold that’s allure?
I will stay asleep and remember when,
Reality is a place I had been.
Posted in Life (or something like it), Sonnets
Tagged allure, asleep, awake, blood, day, dream, hour, night, poem.poetry, reality, remember, sacrifice, sleep, time
We cannot trust one more, one less,
We cannot trust ourselves unless, We accept this dream for what it seems.
We must embrace, then, what it brings.
Dream or reality? Who can tell, does it matter
When dreams themselves do not bother to flatter?
They do not think, they do not feel!
For heavens sake they aren’t even real!
What are dreams but reality only the dreamer can touch?
And what is an illusion if not then viewed as such?
These are questions. These are things
That define us, it would seem.
Not the answer, but the search,
And all we find there in between.
It’s where few of us lie, aiming
Beyond the illusion of what we can see,
Far past the barrier
Of what we can’t be.
There our dreams, goals, and wishes,
Not far from our reach.
Across the nothing, a bridge
To what we can’t yet complete.
Across the gap, this void of ignorance,
There is a voice that calls,
“Time is as finite as its observer
And as mortal as reality falls.
Do not be saddened, we all must die,
That’s what makes our time here precious,
An immortals time is nothing,
As an infinite store of gold: worthless.”
It matters not if the illusion is real,
Or the barrier can’t be moved past,
What’s important is we try and fill
Each moment with what then lasts.
Time is as finite as its observer,
And as mortal as reality falls,
Our lives are adolescence to eternity,
Before our names, that voice, does call.
Posted in Life and death
Tagged barrier, die, eternal, finite, illusion, Infinite, infinity, mortal, observer, poetry, reality, time, voice