The Reality of a Dream

Kind of a microcosmic world relation thing...

The room is blue.
Blue like the deepest oceans;
         Like those beautiful eyes;
         Like those crystal skies.
In the center sits a desk.
A Kid is silently at rest.
He dreams of the forest.
The forest is green.
Green like the slicing blades of grass which grow by millions;
         Like the money hoarded by power hungry;
         Like the past times fading by in memory.

As he dreams the world keeps moving,
         But he may keep on dreaming
He dreams of better times
         Of a million colors;
         Of a billion others.
They all understand him.
They all laugh in unison.
We all are happy.
         We all have our own rooms;
         Our own desks;
         Our own colors and heads to rest.

He wakes.
Suddenly, the world is not as he had dreamed.
         It could be better;
         It could be worse;
         He’ll never know until he strives to meet it’s course.
“The world is my oyster,”
He thinks to himself.
         “Mine to share with everyone;
         or no one else.”

So here we are.
And here we all can stand as He.
         A Kid;
         A child of the past;
         present;
         future.
Take what we will.
But what he may.
         It all keeps moving;
         The colors will always change;
         They never stay.