Dead dreams
The heaviness, the corners become soft, the marshmallow behind your head cushions and like the couches decor turns obsolete.
Reality dissipates, the world becomes weightless, boots, not for snow but sand without water, not for sunbathing for its atmospheric placement is moved.
Mars, venus, space becomes your backdrop as the limitations antiquated with lifeforms only your imagination can form.
The fantasy, the filters not of 2015 when glitter was a part of the scene.
And cut
The director, unhappy for the tale, is not coming to life.
Dead, the dream of a dreamt reality, for when we shut our heavy, weary eyes, the screen will never accurately depict our true emotions.
The ones that have us smile, warm our souls, and twist and turn for imagery.
Word painting and as the artist moves the brush, letters are formed, paragraphs written and cognitive imagery is sparked. A like the electrical current, the waves crash through the tunnel, the light turns and we too are adorned with illuminated water.
Pandora, not of charms but of moons, the glow, the lighting the possibilities of this beautiful planet, 7 wonders of this world but how many of the worlds surrounding us?
Dreams, possibilities, a world where anything, everything and beyond is possible.
If only we did not have to die in our consciences to have these dreams.
A reality which sparks smiles and joy, only when eyes are shut, does this not sound depressing?
Dreams alive, is it possible?
Or do you have to die to have a dream come to life?
