Dream or Reality

Who knows how long it will take

until from my deep slumber I will wake.

It's terrible, violence, racists, and poor.

When, at last, will I wake from this horror?

There's people dying, killing, and crying

and others praying, sitting, waiting.

Waiting for an answer, a loophole, an exit

Watching them is almost as hectic

as the war and chaos that erupts around.

A terrible cost for the rich to stay sound.

Political tyrants in giver's clothing,

and everyone is fooled, they're blinded, hoping

that they will too wake from the dream 

to a world of love, peace, and pristine.

So who knows how long it will take

until from my deep slumber I will wake.

But there raises the question, one of confidentiality.

Is this merely a dream, or a horrific reality?

This poem is about: 
Our world

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