Why do we sometimes like to feel invisible?
To be in dark crevices beneath the crust?
Our cores turn cynical and our hearts to lust.
Fantasy, fiction, and fancy diction,
Desperately drive us towards our dream destinations,
Causing ourselves to head onwards half-heartedly.
Is a vision, a hope of a utopian paradise
Worth the fear of losing it twice?
Because supposedly, it was ours once.
To wake up from a dream, a respiteful reverie?
Or to sleep, believing the ill-conceived images you see?
Is it not better not to wake up and to sleep for an eternity?
Poetry2ponder's Blog 
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