To dream is to build new kingdoms abroad.
But what of our living world and our aging kingdoms?
What of the dystopian madness in which we dwell?
Can we not change it, Scrap the old story?
Can we not return to the blank drawing board,
And sketch out new hopes, new dreams and tomorrows?
We hold on to inspiration as if it’s our last drop of water,
Hoping that it will revitalize the vision we dreamt of,
Set right the lunacy we put into motion.
Information we manipulate, refusing to settle on hard, concrete facts,
Insisting instead on the abstract, the intangible, the unreal.
If this is all intangible, then tell me, is the pain a dream?
Is the crushing poverty a dream?
Are the justice, oppression and hunger all an elaborate dream?
When all that is tangible, cold, hard, concrete, and bitter
Collides with our intangible dreams,
Our dreams dissipate into the air as if made of smoke.
The intangible versus the tangible- a mismatched duel if ever there was one.
Can the tangible be uncreated? Can beginnings be dreamt anew?
« return.