There was once a man
who was known as the dreamweaver.
With eyes open, he knows he can.
Rarely could you hear him say 'Never'.
He stared at the stars
like he knew them one by one.
Never knew he had hidden scars
from a past never begone.
There existed a time
where dreams were weave
to be worn not to sublime.
To recieve nothing is what he believe.
'It is normal' he said
with conviction in his eyes.
It was a dead-promise laid
into a bed of ice.
With realization upon his face,
he began to think
that weaving was not a race.
It is saving something from the brink
of nothingness to become reality.
To become something to cherish.
To help a passionate entity.
To create a blissful wish.
With the whole galaxy in his hands,
he began to stretch the cosmic-fabric.
Shaking what dares to stand,
and to colorful music and lyric.
With happiness in his face,
he continued to weave and weave
until the moons began to cross maze
to chase a dream that began to leave.
He continued to weave until the galaxy
loses all of its life.
He knew it was his destiny
despite ending there he still strive.
'If only there was someone
who could weave the same as I do.
Then everyone will be left by no one.
No one is outgrew.'
There lies in his dream
the weaver of dreams
forever it was only him,
and his story in the cosmic-stream.
There are times that it will be only us, and no one else.