Dreams

If the lyrics of the songs
could come to life,
I wouldn’t invent the dark
to echo back your strife.

If the verses of the poems
could breathe and thrive,
I’d keep a stiff upper lip
with determined eyes.

If the colors of the sky
could linger for a while,
but it ended in darkness,
a meaningful goodbye.

If the sunrise could be
as golden as today,
I wouldn’t eat alone
or listen to hearsay.

If dreams could come true,
I’d give them all to you,
but now they’re short-lived—
the red turned into blue.

If dreams could come true,
perhaps I wouldn’t be alive,
I’d stay in bed, sleeping,
smiling, enjoying this life.