I thought if only we were dreamers
I thought if only we were dreamers
Freedom would be easy
If the truth was only heard
Then so it would be…
But I am still a prisoner of the haunting
Too many times waiting
For the drums to stop
There is no truth worth hearing
In the darkness
Shadowed beneath towering trees
Where the great beasts lie in wait
For the unwary soul
Too caught up in sorrow
To see the error in forbearance
Mistaking silence
For acquiescence
Being carried along on a wave
Of wistful reminiscence
For the time before wanting
Ears are closed cups
Nothing is ever heard
Through an old steam radio
Until it is connected
To a receiver
Dreams are not unlike that
Freedom is an illusion
Rather like a nightmare
When the truth is told
And we are still bound
By the ties of our convention
Bold as love
Tethered by history
To the mystery hidden
Within the rhythm
Of our own breathing
Which is as a tempest
Of uncontrolled animosity
Toward Jungian archetypes
When the truth of waking
Lies in the improbability
Of existence
As a symbol of hope and perpetuity