I, too, dream.


I dream of the glistening glare as I look up into the sun.

I dream of the limber grass bending as I touch.

I dream of my little boy making a homerun.

Is this all too much?

Yet, you still ask me if I could see

What I see is beyond the fabric of reality.

What I see is the monsters of the mind

and the dreams of the living.

Is this all too much?

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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