Broken Dreams

"..I spread my dreams beneath your feet,
tread softly,
for you tread on my dreams.."

Dear lonely isle,

I told you not to step so hard.
But maybe some things were meant to be broken. Perhaps dreams were just not meant to be.
Perhaps.
But have you ever woken up wishing that you were still dreaming, because that would mean that the dream was reality and that reality is now the dream, a bad dream that you would wake from and everything would be okay again?
But somehow, it just doesn't seem to happen.
Many things just don't seem to happen. So we learn to live with reality.
Always, when I happen to ask myself, "Am I dreaming?",
Usually I am. Because I wake up, into stark, cold, and harsh reality. Where I happen to live.
I seek salvation in dreams, delving into the comfort of the mind to conjure up what I lack in life. Maybe that's why I have such pleasant dreams. But then, someone steps too hard.
Some things were probably made to be in pieces. Too bad they happen to be my dreams. The destruction of your sanctuary is a blow to the heart, of immense pain you can't describe.
But you feel it. And you expect to see the hilt of the sword sticking out, the thrust straight and true. And feel the blood forming a puddle around your feet. So you look down.
But there's nothing there.
Like your dreams, once again, you've been fooled. Believing in a false reality, in false security. Believing the lies your mind creates around you.
But what is man without salvation from his fears? Where do you go when last hope fails? What do you do when your journey reaches a dead end?
Do we turn back? Or jump from the cliff? Or wait for the search party to find you, and lead you back to the roads you know? But what if they never come? What if you call out to saved, and no one answers?
Or do we walk ahead, sure and certain that a bridge lies hidden? But then we would fall. Because there is none, save the voice in your head, and the images in your mind.

But that's where I live.

love, joyce.