i awaken i see to my left the sunrise,
the reds the yellows and orange
reflecting off the sky
and see,
as i look upward,
the reflection of it's beauty on the ceiling.
from the mirror on the water outside
i lie in my bed,
in my perfect world,
not a thought nor a care to me
i hear the birds singing songs of perfection,
and their beautiful feathers i see.
when is it made clear
that the things which i hear
are in actuality naught but my dreams
for as i sleep,
in my perfectly non-perfect world,
it is all but imperfect, it seems.