Reality?

Swirling blackness,
Going down, down...
I re-amerge in some kind of mystic
Imagination,
like I'm trapped in my own mind.
Swirling trees, and buildings of mould,
Greyness everywhere, but the leaves are gold.
But suddenly within the scarlet mist,
A new life begins to evolve.
Velvet eyes and butter-milk hair!
But it's innocence removes all unknown fears,
But to my horror, it's eyes are full of tears!

What's wrong? I ask,
Reality is dead, it says,
Now I'll be trapped,
In mystic surrealism, feeling grey and old until
my time comes,
But I'll live evermore,
For how am I to experience,
And how can I trust?
I want to return from The Surreal,
I must, I must!

I have no answer-
I am no god, can't undestand it's loss,
So I smile for it's comfort,
But it cries and cries,
And soon, those grey and golden leaves
Suffocate me, my soul is weak,
I feel half dead, now way past my peak.

The breeze picks up again, as if to speak-
'You're home'.
I'm in my bed seeing flowing curtains,
In the midst of pain,
However, not feeling quite exquisite