What did you mean?
That they are all just dreams?
But not everything is as it seems.
Do you know what I mean?

Those who dream awake
Those whose minds a lake
Reflected, deep, and cold
It's also sick and old

They see the wars
Hear the shores
Wishing they were never born
Wishing, oh, how they're worn

They are the soldiers
Searching for their closure
They listen in silence
To hear their hidden guidance

They're labeled "psychotic"
When really, they're aquatic
Swimming, sinking, diving
They're minds are quickly thriving

They see the future, past, and present
Dreamers, they represent
No more are they "schizophrenic"
They're dreams now, photogenic

I live in a world of aimless dreamers
They tell me to become one of them
Their pointless dreams are the key to their "happiness"
An oasis for their aching souls

I dream aimlessly to evade my fears
I dream aimlessly to escape the tears
I dream aimlessly to hold onto peace
I dream aimlessly but I reach no reach

I dream aimlessly, I suppose to live
I dream aimlessly when I close my eyes
I dream aimlessly for a positive
I dream aimlessly, although I die

I dream aimlessly
Although I know
That aimless dreamers in the end..
Have nothing to show

And this lesson is to be learned
An aimless dreamer neither gains anything, nor earns.

Underneath a duplex in it's basement a wide assortment of pipes and appliances are mounted everywhere. Some pipes hang from the ceiling disconnected. Holes stuffed with insulation in the concrete foundation. The musician may sit and listen to the sounds of rushing water, boilers and furnaces kicking on and find music in it. The poet may find beauty in the mystery of it all and mention it as a metaphorical line in an upcoming piece
But when the plumber walks down
he sees it for what it truly is. He understands the sounds, the disconnections, the holes left behind by absent appliances, what goes where and why. Inside his mind he sees every movement of every machine, can pick any problem out of sounds and gauges. Imagine having an acute understanding of the world around you and how to work with it. I'm starting to think being a dreamer is more of a coping mechanism than anything.
I'd say I aspire to be a plumber
But I'd just be another poet making another stupid analogy.

Pursue the horizon, o you! o mine
No longer shall you wander the depth within
Where the years are cold, and dark and endless
And tuck the wool about your shoulders, now

No longer shall you travel alone, o mine
Lighten those eyes and springen that step
Lest you lose your way, and left, you pine
Those dark and endless years, most weary

Yonder you see (alas!) the blue horizon
O you, o mine, do not be disheartened,
do not lose your penchant for enchantments
For it is the horizon that is blue, and not you

And it is blue, for the sodden, downtrodden,
And merely, odd-end...
Is blue, regardless of you!
And you! regardless

Imagine for a moment
our lives are different
imagine for a second
our world is surrounded by peace
imagine for a minute
this is more than just a dream.

falling asleep in the morning
i woke up at night
with the moon hovering
over my coffee
but it was just the light
the shining down
on me like a voice saying,
you cannot bury yourself
in the gloom
of the night
and the moon
it does not shine
just half its light
and the moon
will never be as bright
as when lovers and dreamers
first found the night.

a community of wildflowers pretending to be roses.
befriending what we believe are better plants,
and covering themselves in lavender.
they dip their petals and spikes into ink,
and they pretend that they are feathers,
and with these feathers they pretend to be birds,
and being birds is the only way they feel free.
they are left uncared for and wilted down,
they are overlooked and thrown away,
they are called pests and flower killers.
but they are beautiful,
they are powerful and everpresent,
they are proof that no matter how much pulling them out,
cutting them down, and praying them away, wildflowers are here to stay.