The Dream Is Me
Deep down within I’ve always known, this world I see is not my own.
The truth reveals itself when to my oldest thoughts I flee.
I cannot tell quite what it means, but in the mind of one who dreams,
There is a whole world that, it seems, tells a tale ‘bout me.
Can it be true that all I think and feel and touch and see,
Is just a vision had by he?
I know that he lived long ago, because my instincts tell me so.
Though it may be he lives right now if his is reality.
If “then” is but the real now, one must marvel in awe at how,
One man’s mind can just allow, a future world to be.
Is his vision pure invention or a predictive guarantee?
The beginnings of a mystery.
In those potential times of old, a fire burns against the cold.
And by that fire sits a man, who’s he, or me, or we.
Around him stand a solemn band, their weapons never far from hand,
Defenders of a threatened land, their only hope is me.
I do not know what knowledge from my life can set them free
And yet my world remains the key.
The land outside is cold and dark, the fire’s shadows bold and stark.
I sense nearby a forest with pine needle laden trees.
Within those woods fierce animals roam, the wolves of night call it their home.
Their piercing howl like death’s true moan, heedless of prayer or plea.
And yet they aren’t the danger that my bold companions flee.
For the true foe, I’m yet to see.
I sense it there out in the night, the presence lurking out of sight.
Is it a mortal threat or some malicious deity?
The more I think, the more I know, the more the feeling starts to grow,
Of evil born so long ago, now divided into three.
The dreamer, too, knows the threefold foe, of his society.
But why lies his solution in visions of me?
Demon the first, of flesh and bone, with traits that we might call our own.
The people of the world have cruel and violent tendencies.
But whilst they cause so many woes, they are the least of mankind’s foes.
If we fight back the problem goes, cold hearts pierced by cold steel, you see?
In my intangible world the dreamer hunts for truth from me.
My life a dreamed mythology.
Demon the second is nature in force, events of power and unalterable course.
Things against which the defences of man are but weak mockery.
An earthquake levels those works of man, red hot lava engulfs the land,
A rock from space approaches and, we can do naught but flee.
Gaia’s wrath is relentlessly, fully indifferent to humanity.
Nature rules all, the land and sea.
We build walls to hide from the storms, as drought or flood become the norm,
But Vulcan’s fury or Terra’s quakes are threats of a different degree.
Those who live in the land of the real, must face down every natural ordeal.
And so their answer, most surreal, was to dream of me.
I doubt they want to learn from my world to use our technology,
But why then specifically me?
Demon the third, I clearly recall, the sense of death that comes to us all.
All things must end and then start to fade as they’re lost from living memory.
I’m saddened that nothing comes after we die, a fact some optimistically deny.
But truth is truth, you cannot decry, in this world there’s but one guarantee.
Nothing has meaning if all turns to dust as the sun dies eventually.
One just can’t help but feel deep ennui.
The universe large, and us so small, our time alive but miniscule.
The millenia pass and all of this Earth’s but a drop in eternity’s sea.
I think therefore I am, they say, but when death comes our brains decay.
All thought at that point goes away, and so we cease to be.
Existence makes no impact in our universe’s chronology,
Yet still death is a fear for me.
The dreamer knows, and he is right, what doesn’t last we must hold tight.
The quest to keep ourselves alive is our priority.
But even then our life is fleeting, the voice of dark just keeps repeating, with each time our heart is beating, the countdown till we cease to be.
He seeks the answers in my life, in all I think and feel and see.
He’s doomed to fail, you must agree.
Shadows dance across the face, of a dreamer lost in dream’s embrace.
I see the fire and see him sit so very purposefully.
The fire’s harsh blazing warms his skin, but does not reach the soul within.
The manic thoughts that rest therein, make no apology.
I hope that he might find respite in my life’s odyssey.
Are we a team, both him and me?
This mystery I cannot solve, this story never yet resolved,
When fire dulls and he awakes, the truth of things we’ll see.
But there’s no rush to end the dream, our minds entwined across time’s stream,
Beneficial both to dreamer and dreamed, whichever each might be.
I’ve always known the dreamer sits and keeps his mind on me.
What happens next, I’ll wait and see.