Dreamers

My dreams, a pre ordained refuge.
They protect my sanity, though you would think me mad.
I wonder, are your minds so dead, that you know not the truth?
The truth that is I, my waking dreams that hides my sanity.

You may find my form,
Eyes glazed in dream state as the fantasy plays in my mind.
Would you think it strange?
I wonder.

My dreams are my sleeping refuge.
I have power there, my dreams my own.
You can no more alter them,
Than you can alter the stars.

Now as my twilight descends on your burning day,
I will survive in my dark night,
You will perish in the life fire,
As your mind and sanity find no refuge,
You are set on your path. The slow death.

While I, and others like me,
We will soar over lost landscapes.
Walk across the new,
Spread our being to the very end of time,
And beyond.

We are timeless, the day dreamers
The poem writers, and story conceivers.
We transcribe all that is.
Life, love, death. All.

What would you be without us?
The dark creators, the heart lifters,
Those that have the power to make you cry but with a word.
I wonder.

Shall I conceive your end for you?
Let glimpse the day fire?
Alas, I see still you do not understand.
For you are not dreamers.
And I pity you.