Something as mythical as a dream/
Calls us to something different/
For us to realize, in our intrusion we are no different than drops of rain into a stream/
With this subtle push, we become less resistant.
Calls us to something different/
Where all that is held is fear/
With this subtle push, we become less resistant/
The illusion of choice makes such things more clear.
Where all this held is fear/
A dream, a thought demands our arrival/
The illusion of choice makes such things more clear/
We must not believe ourselves to be the reason for a truths revival.
Cry, cry, cry for such ignorance is disgraceful/
When the poet thinks he can write at will/
He will find only the shadow of skill/
Cry, cry, cry for those that think dreams arrive because of their want.