To dream or not to dream-- that is the question.

Whether tis pertinent to endure reality,

And remain within logic,

Or to be enveloped by delightful fantasy,

And, by surrendering, avoid harsh truth.



To awake, to swim within an ocean of deceit--

No more-- and by awakening to say we visualize

The honest brutality of the real world

That withholds us in its claws--

‘Tis a devastation

I do not wish to discover.



To dream, to imagine

To fantasize, possibly too much.

Yes, that is the flaw,

For imagining permits distortion

When we are retreating from Life’s vicious factual basis

Must halt our progress to ponder.



There’s the venom

That poisons the sweet savour of dreams.

For who desires the stress of actuality,

The earth’s hurried pace,

The pragmatist’s deafening speech,

The potent sting of Jealousy,

The ravenous bite of Depression,

The ceasless throb of Heartbreak,

And the inescapable death

That the Reaper engraves for Fate

When he too might dare dream

Of an existence other than his own?



Who would echo the world’s turbulent candor,

To stagger and stumble along Flesh and Blood’s journey

But that the scarce beautiful remenants of glee may fade,

The forgotten realms that have disappeared which

The ramparts barricade

While we wallow in a distant haze

Fabricating complex webs of myth

Rather than discerning fact from fiction?



Thus the deep ravine of actuality does weave coarse threads within us all,

And thus the zest of dreaming

Is defiled by rancid realization

And radiant visions of magical beings

With this regard are purged

And recede to give way to tangible life.

© caspershay