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Array
(
[sid] => 157159
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Dreams
[time] => 2010-02-01 14:02:48
[hometext] => Realizing your own inner strength for your future etc.
[bodytext] => Dreams such selfish things; Such childish trinkets, Carried in the pockets of yesterday’s youth Should be forgotten. For (someday soon) society will crush us---- Under the weight of our imaginings And our longings. Dreams: The End of us all. (Or so I’ve been told, By those I have known, Have met and belonged to.) “Dreams,” They’ve said, “Are wasted things.” I, myself, was not meant to dream--- Only to work. I was to be conditioned, Like a racehorse, to find a suitable profession; One that made lot’s of money, For money is what matters most: It makes you the toast of the town. Happiness? It’s nothing. It won’t get you anything! Anyway, wouldn’t you be “happy” making money? I thought I would be, But something lurking deep inside of me said, “No.” You would not be happy, Miserable, yes. Happy? Certainly not---- Because----You have always been a dreamer, Are a dreamer and will die a dreamer, So dream why don’t you? Why don’t I? Why can’t I? This is my life, This is my journey, This is my chance at living: The world is too full of nonbelievers It could use another dreamer---someone like me, Unique, for I know who I am And what it was I was born for, Which was to be a writer. Speaking of writing, It was through that happy medium That an epiphany struck: Dreams are unselfish things; Are the secretive whispers of the Heart, Carried in the pockets of tomorrow’s youth Should be remembered, Not forgotten. For (someday soon) society will buckle---- Under the weight of our imaginings And our longings. Dreams: the Birth of us all. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 131 [topic] => 21 [informant] => JakerBaker88 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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