Why did you have to be real?

Could you not have been a dream?

Then I wouldn’t have love to feel,

Poems to write, or glances to steal;

Oh how happy things would seem 

If you were nothing but a dream.

But you are so very surreal,

Far too much for any dream.

Poetry simply can’t reveal

How foolish love is to feel.

Yet no matter how I scheme

You will never be a dream.

Oh how silly is this ordeal

To wish you were a dream?

That is not the way to heal.

But since you damned me to feel,

You will to me forever gleam

As nothing but a dream.