real

There is in my life two distinct worlds-
the "real" word, as they call it
logical, practical, tangible, painful
real, as real gets.
And the "dream world", as I imagine it,
creative, emotional, mystical, strange
surreal as surreal gets.


The second i find home,
the first, i am alien
thrust into
against myself
a foreign space to travel cautiously
with eyes closed, and fists clenched.


I float in, i drift out
between these worlds i find myself
but often
my dreams, are my powerful than my legs
and they carry me further into the imagined
further away from the world you know as real away from the judgment and the jadedness
away into a place where bravery isn't necessary

and doubt isn't possible.

It's hard to stay there,

cause the man keeps bringing me down

down down down

to the space

where they take me down

and steal my mind

corrupt my thoughts

with mindless hate and apathy

with money, with greed, with war

with indifference disguised as comfort

with complacency and the bullshit of "Independence"

These are the shackles

bound to my wrists

my ankles

tying me down down down

to earth

to ground

they can tie me ,

and try to domesticate

train

and strip me

but they can't pillage my dream

they can bind my ankles together

but they can't stop me from dancing

No, they can't tie my spirit down

down down down

cause my spirit -- it wanders

it tip toes fearlessly into the thin spaces

into the thin places

where the real

becomes the surreal

it tip toes into the hard realization

that perhaps one world is enough

perhaps these worlds - the real and the dream

collide.

Yes, they collide.

Maybe what the "real world" needs is a little more imagination

a little more dreamin
a little more heart

A hole,

in the earth

for the surreal to seep through

into the pores

and the veins of a very real world.

maybe dreams weren't ever meant to be something to escape into,

but rather something we use to confront what we're trying to escape from, in the first place.

maybe it's our dream worlds,

that can unshackle our wrists, so we can write boldly against bondage

maybe it's our dream worlds

that untie the rope around our ankles,

so we can walk courageously

into reality, towards freedom

on legs that know and resist

with each step

the tragedy of imprisonment.

Maybe it's dreaming,

that makes the real world

real

after all....