My silent world
Is but a dream;
A loathesome breath
Of reality
Causes conflict
In my plight

For fighting and finding
My innermost sight.

The things I see
Are not always there,
But reality
Is but a miniscule word.

A word that is spoken
In the silence of night
That no-one can hear
But the beat of morning light.

It creeps into my room
And into my mind,
And awakens me gently
From the dreams left behind.