Twitter80fad54As this May fades, I still see traces of my previous dreams

Upon this bed, I listen loud for questions writing wills

Have I been sour, upsetting all that tread upon my path?

Have I been kind, a sparkling light that brightens every heart?

Is this how youth goes away

When there’s still so much to say?

Is this how night turns to day

With too little time to pray?

Does my mind only conjure

All the best thoughts I can draw?

Does my spirit stay ashamed

Of the purpose yet achieved?

As May fades away, I see traces of hope

As I tick this day as gone, I still await a show

Maybe May was a stage sent to test my living skills

May May leave me good traces of these daring drills.



Who does reality leave less than puzzled
Does Plato’s theme not disturb your thoughts?
That our rich wild world is one of appearance
And world of forms is saved for the mind.

Were our frames fashioned for frivolities
Leaving us destitute of diamonds
In whose purse were our dreams stored
Or were they less than Joseph’s dreams?

What happened to having vivid visions?
What happened to wanting to save the world?
What happened to the childhood dreams
Of living in a castle with prince charming?

What happened to finding light at the end of the tunnel?
What happened to waking up on the right side of the bed?
What happened to becoming the world’s champion?
What happened to soaring on eagles’ wings?

What happened to being untouchable?
What happened to planting gardens and fields?
What happened to happily ever after?
What happened to not waiting for forever?

Socrates taught interrogation
And my soul has made a decision
To never undermine reality
By burning the roots of fantasy.



Dreams have wings, like ideas
They soon fly, far away
In our youth, they stay true
Filled with hope of stardom
As we grow, they unfold
Getting hit by blind bullets
Ever there, ever present
Lurking to break open their veins.

If we all were super men and women
Our army would save our dreams
With our shield, we would conquer
The enemies that drain our hopes
Not the world, or its words
Would steal our strength and will
We would march on and press on
Till we conquer our fields.