To dream awake
Posted on 12. Mar, 2008 by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dreams
When I closed my eyes, I began to dream. I was a child, holding myself in imagination and wonder. Not like the tattered old suit who passed me on the street, or the fine pair of shoes that cautiously crosses the street.
No I was like I was when I hid in the forest of blades once beneath my feet, laughing as I snuck from here to there. When I dream, I begin to see clearly. I view the world like a rainbow painting my world, beautiful, hopeful, unbroken.
I hear the words of the world bring themselves to a chorus of unity and silence, to which I must take action. To believe that I am different would be pointless and unfortunate, as I, simply am. When I live, my dreams become real. I hold them. Touch them. Taste them. I try again and again, for something. That something is not what I desire. It is the act of reaching that brings my spirit to a point of fascination. My place in the steps of living may only be counted once, and then I must defer to the very figment I adore. To wake, I must be dreaming, for I still see the world in so many colors.