Dreams

I awake each morning alive, my mind empty, it craves more sleep. Except on occasions where I have encountered a dream. It is time to get up, for what? Some caffeine? Some words written or words spoke? There is no work to be done, I have this thought each day. I despise it, so I stay creative in defiance. A poem, a song, a story, a picture or a journey into the madness of the dream. Is that what separates us from the rest? Everywhere I see them, fulfilled, joyous, cloned in their mundane states. Do they dwell on death? Do they dwell on existence? Do they dwell on the lie that we are owed what we desire? I envy the smiler, the clone, the one with the life. The one who does not feel the dream. The dream is a parasite, a parasite which covers the eye's and poisons the internal need for peace. Envy is a terrible trait they say, yet it is one I have learned to embrace For I have encountered a dream.