these dreams

this mind soars amongst many dreams

 

and they come in such excess

in such a multitude

that some are barely given a thought 

 

despite this

my imagination continuously labors

through fits of passion

and lulls of judgment

over many fanciful muses

 

wading through ideas of

absolute necessity

and superfluous fantasies

 

all of which appear as strokes of utter genius 

but doubt only convinces

that their worth amounts to no less than

a routine dunce's illusion

 

nevertheless

this mind always travels amongst many dreams

 

~

 

i am consumed by these spiraling dreams

 

by the fact

that are supposed to define my worth

 

the question is constant

and the answer, variable

it's not like it's worth it, right?

 

i am valuable enough to be invested in

and given instruction

 

i am devoured by beautiful images of success

 

so much so

that these feet rarely reach the ground

 

but

foot is ultimately met with such a terra firma

 

yet

these limbs lose the confidence required

to effectively capture even two of those

flitting delusions

 

why?

 

maybe because

 

it's not like it's worth it, right?

 

for how will your fruitless aspirations

ever live up to the

overwhelming expectation

of your future?

 

~

i suppose it's true

that the future theoretically does not need my input

 

however

i refuse to accept

such a bleak fate

 

no matter how useless my dreams may be to you

 

they are worth just as much as

your practicalities

in this young world of ambiguities

and innovation

 

at least in this mind floating among dreams

 

and it will never rest

as long as their is something new

to explore

that acts as a catalyst

of varied perception

 

and by extension

unity

amongst a new world

 

never underestimate

your dreams

no matter how fleeting they seem

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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