Dreams
I am nothing but a dream
Not of a dream
But the eternity of the dream itself
Nothing but an illusion of the mind
Of the imagination I am made
And of reality I have become
A character of fiction I was before
With a past made in the blur of a second
Shaped in the strike of a single moment
Now I have been made into reality
I can touch, feel
I can sense
With you now I live
I have become, the future now in my hands they be
So the memories I have in my mind
All fake?
Are they only because you created them?
This illusion can it be?
Through myself I cannot see
Thus an apparition I cannot truly be
Tell me who or what I am
Grant me the truth to whether I am real
And that I share this reality with the rest of the mortal world
Or is it when you wake up
And cease to dream this night
This week, this year
That I too will wake up
Nothing will I be
My existence futile
All I have worth nothing
All of it fake
Then how have I come to hold these memories?
How is it possible then
That I once held you?