Dreaming With a Broken Heart

How can I keep on dreaming even when it breaks my heart? How can I keep myself trapped in pain? How can you insist the dreams are good When they only bring disdain? You bring the rain of hurt upon me, So swift and unforeseen. You make me curl up and cringe. What does it all mean? Why must we hide and suffer Because we want more? Why are all our bright imagined ideals Behind a closed, locked door? You see the light shining out, Bathing you from the night. But no matter how you tug and turn, The door withstands your fight. And if by chance you hang on To those feelings of dreamy whim, You find yourself alone and sad Almost hanging on a limb. The limb suspended over A vast dark empty chasm To which you’ll lose your very life If you but have one spasm. It’s easier to let go, To hold more practical thoughts. Even if it ages me, It saves my heart lots. I do not have to cry myself To sleep every night. I do not look into uncertainty And shriek from all the fright. I simply progress far past my age, My childlike wonder strangled. I see things with a clearer mind And so much prettier angled. Sure, I’ll miss the clouds and sunshine, The laughter and the frolic, But if I keep myself too high, I’m sure to end up with a wallop. I save myself some daily pain By separating me from the child, And I await the day When I can finally be wild.