Actually

It’s not that shadows do not exist    
when the sun breaks up the morning mist,    
it’s the ignorance of the new day’s gift-    
naivety welcomed to welcome bliss.    
Within tears shed (from haplessness)    
uncurls a smile, of un-regress.    
And on the slopes of muddy hills,    
we pick up ourselves with ev'ry spill.    
   
Yet what dreams may tell so vividly    
can unhinge one’s self from actually.    
For opposite the fence looks over-    
which eyes avoid and squint in torture,    
in dreams we hide and hope reside,    
brutal actually: this carriage ride.    
   
Colors and sunbeams we held for a moment-    
woken, forgotten, yet a taste still romanced.    
   
With scars on jeans and tears in knees,    
leave me be, pretty please.    
You foul reaper- actually,    
just leave me be, leave me be.