Are dreams meant to be dreamt,
Or are they to be lived?
Are they to be strived for,
Followed as a lamb follows its mother,
To be clung to as a koala bear does, a tree?
Or are they to burn an eternal fire deep inside,
To be kept alive with dry twigs,
A small flame in the darkness?
Are they to be gazed at
With the eyes out of focus?
Or are they to be sought out,
Eyes blurred with concentration?
A dream ceases to be that when it is realised.
Should we try to make them happen
Or should we beat away, the
Glare of the flame hidden
Within our warm, wet flesh?