The Dreamer

You never really want to wake up.
In the forest, I was free,
Reality was a dream to me,
It wasn't terrifying,
Although rather thrilling.

My car then crashed,
And I ran up beneath the corn field,
Airborne down the crimson canal,
After my crest was smashed.

Now,
Sun’s beams leak through the pane,
A radiant brine floods,
The crevices of my frosty rigid floor.

My bursting dried up eyes,
Do not yearn to perceive,
Cobalt dawns knocking on the door.

Waking as a hostage,
Chained within the minute scoped idea:
"Life".

But fantasy was my stage,
Each night,
I instigate a new fight,
Try to flee the fate breathing bestows,
I’d rather splurge my years below.
By Joshua-James Bosch

Posted in: Poems