Dreams
By: Shabnam
Dreams are clouds, floating just above my reach.
Tantalizing, frustrating, a bribe for my soul.
Trading authenticity for materialism's warmth.
For they cannot be anything but selfish, these
dreams of mine. They are the symbol of
self-indulgence which threaten to consume me.
They are the blood upon my hands, the sins
unrepented. They are the facade painted over
the Truth, becoming the Lie. They are the mirror
of my soul, a reflection of failure itself. These
so-called Dreams. They are nothing but trouble.
