It could be that a thousands dreams Could never save a lost soul; For once the sleeping being is waked, Those fantastical thoughts are forgotten. And lying in one’s reality, Moving yet stilled by the night occurrences The mind grapples to remember, To glimpse, Only a vision of what could be While knowing full-well what is. And in this stillness The world is at large, Waiting in the conscious hours For one more innocent To lose its way.
Poetry, Photos, and Stuff by Matt Ramey