What are dreams
when viewed as gateways
for those who hate days
and wish to escape to what seems
instead of their reality?

Tools of destruction, distinctive
from seductive safe havens
yet in short term not at all distinct.

What are dreams when seen
as just that, without having to lean
on pillows, nights and slumber?
Every trip is just a number.

Bring me home, bring me there
where I do not have autonomy,
where all I do is lie and nurture
and repair, somewhere I don't have to care
for others, me and melancholy.

Take me where it's right to say,
I'll follow, you can lead the way.
Would that be bliss or ignorance?
Wait, isn't that the same?

Leave me stretched about in nature's
clouds of wavy strands and teach
me how to stumble through the sand,
show me how to meet the beach
halfway through de land.

There are no shorelines in our minds,
there is no white or black,
knowing all these different kinds
may exist together, is something many lack.