I wake from a dream.
You know those dreams that leave you slowly
But you always wish they never ended.
My dreams are like that,
As quiet and soft as a breath,
But as powerful and wild as a thunderstorm.
Like a gentle kiss on the cheek,
It makes its impression and then leaves.
It leaves you grasping on to it, begging it to stay,
But it cannot.
Such is the way of things
That dreams do come and go in rhythm.
If that rhythm ever vanished,
What would become of reality?
Cold and harsh,
It is reality that forces the dream from our minds.
For in the dream, the images from the mind seem real,
But they dissolve, and physical existence is there.
The night holds enough mystery, love,
Adventure and horror to last a lifetime,
But it disappears and we must move on.
