Dreamer

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***
Dreamer is too pretty of a word:

A breath of wistful naivety,

Masquerading as the oxygen of hope in our lungs.

It reads as a fantastical tale of serendipity,

In the novel, life-

Written in our name.

But does that not settle strangely?

Sand sinks in vain after a wave has crashed to shore,

But is, in moments, washed out at the ocean's mercy.

Such are dreams,

Inconstant in the same way we cannot grasp a cloud within our fingertips.

We must marry Modernism with the Old Timer Romance-

We can no longer afford to be dreamers alone,

For often we forget that a dream cannot guarantee felicity in reformation.

A dream is made easily into a nightmare.

Hence, we are disillusioned.

Nowadays we must be dreamers and conquerors-

We cannot use pretty words to fuel revolution!

The world is no longer pretty,

And has been thus for longer than a dreamer cares to admit.

***

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