Quest For Quests

"What is the problem that is a solution?" "My dear, that is easy, it is being dead when you are very much alive and well!" A newspaper garden is what we call a street The unclear air whispers tainted secrets Against s brick building where lust generates heat That distracts the people from their lack Of love born lust Because they gave up everything up to trust And settled for desperation a while back Mirrors line the sidewalks They glitter back reflections no one wants to see in order to ignore these brown images People spend their times with nothing as the foundation of time consuming talks Among friends, family and passersby, they notice the barren leaves and dilapidated buildings But they relinquished their abilities To see colours, spots, and paisley; to close their eyes And open them to see a world of their own making, with no added fees Imagination was soon abandoned and forsaken Seen as useless They are taken By the glittering illusion of reality But what's to say what's wrong, real or, right? Does there have to be a reason That I can see a sunrise at night? Or I can kiss and grasp emotions in two worlds? What's to say I'm wrong or right? Everyone dreams of flying But they fear living as much as dying But sometimes reason should stop And people should understand that if they close their eyes And open them to see a talking rabbit, a flower with only four thorns under a glass globe Speaking vainly for an hour Or seeing yourself use a superpower And clinging to this picture Or living in both fantasy and reality It does not mean you are insane Or drugs are running through a vain Or you are having delusions from pain But maybe your are living Again Your are not trying to escape Your are being set free