The harsh reality
That dreams cannot be made substance
Lest all rules to life itself
Be turned on their ear
As one whose dreams are steeped in blood
Walks endlessly through life
Without guilt nor hinderance.
These dreams, gilt brightly, held dear,
May not come to pass
Should not come to pass,
As they shred appart the hopes of millions,
Yet, they sometimes do
For brief moments of nightmarish clarity
Which begs the question
Whose dreams take precident?
As clearly, a pure heart is not rewarded on it's own merits,
But a clear vision often is, as it comes to be.
See clearly, or step away out of the line of fire
Step back.
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