I've dreams of where nothing but joy, love, and knowledge exist.
Followed by a sudden wake and a burst of reality.
The crop that you grow is the one that you step on.
You may not see it, may not acknowledge what you do.
But I do. And I burn with hatred for you.
Hatred for the fact that you don't reap what you sow.
You leave it there to grow alone.
Out in the cold, no comfort from the warm hearth.
How careless are you? Or perhaps not careless at all.
Perhaps you don't see what you do.
Small possibility that is though, for you.
Perhaps it is my fault, for giving you the seed.
Entrusting you with its needs when you were not yet ready.
When I was not yet ready.Not ready at all, to see what would become of its lonely soul.
Perhaps, I am just delusional. A dreamer. A cloud.
Floating above reality, but then crashing back down.
As heavy rain, and tremendous thunder.
Turning into destructive hail to all that are under.
I believe I should stop, wake up, and see.
That not all reality, is a dream.
Just as not all dreams, are what they seem.