Dreaming with the hope that
One day all will be made new,
Thing is, dreams do not filter out
What the brain knows is not true.
Dreams stretching past the farthest reaches of reality
Are in my opinion to be regarded with highest validity
Works of the mind’s creation,
The purest imagination,
All the hopes and fears that draw us near
Lie here in combination.
Once abandoned life’s restraints,
The mind is free to will the paint
Into a form beyond the norm
That won’t conform to the lukewarm


These thoughts rise up from
Inside my dormitory.
Stories being told to Young from Old
To the Timid from the Bold
To Impulse from Hesitation
To Silence comes Inspiration
Bare hand, listen to the Bandaged
Get a glove and you will manage.

Do I concentrate on my word play to the point of neglecting content,
Over-contemplating and rearranging, wondering where all the time went
The side-notes that accompany are meant simply to harmonize
But when dessert replaces meal, check nutrition of lemon pies
I’m getting gypped by my own tricks, my brain is working with a limp
I’ve stockpiled all my cheap fixes and flipped ‘em for a new trip

What’s meant to inspire retires to an anchor weighing me down;
The pen’s expired and I desire more ink in another I have found.
What’s a tire to the rider when the tread has been worn and torn?
Live wire starts a fire in a dry field, and significance is born.