December 3, 2006


Dreams are what we are made of,
Memories twisted by interpretation,
Our own being dilutes them
And understanding is halved.

A sense of mist surrounds them,
Blurred to perfection,
Until woken up from delusion
Our mind gives ultimate bliss.

Some are lucid, others aren’t,
Messed up to mean something,
Dreams in sleep, daydreams, distractions,
All programmed by media’s lies.

Folders in our head,
Main points of yesterdays meeting,
Bullet points, scribbles, notes,
All stored in the brains power.

Dreams of what could be done
With our lives, destiny or fate
You might ask inside, deep inside
Which one you will choose.

All thought out for us,
Dreams are mere lies inserted
Into our brains by world control,
Existence is only what we appear to know.

James Crocker – Written on 4th November 2006


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