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Life is but a dream
I lay alone, and reflect.
The memories I have had before I sleep.
The memories I have conceived.
Were they all real,
Or some made up dream.
Do they even exist?
I lay there and question if I exist?
I reflect,
Upon what I dream,
Deprived of sleep.
Am I real,
Or just an ideological I conceived?
All the writing I conceived.
Do they, to you exist,
To you are they real?
What do they reflect?
Are they just memories, dreams, scenarios written in sleep?
What do I dream?
Am I just living a dream?
Am I falsely conceived?
Waiting to wake but trapped in sleep?
Waiting to exist?
The thoughts I reflect.
Am I real?
What is real?
An unchecked reality caught in a state of dream?
What do I reflect?
What have I conceived?
What I make, does it exist,
Or is what I make in a state of sleep?
Thoughts ponder I wish for sleep.
Am I real?
Do I exist?
Wish me a sweet dream,
Of memories conceived.
Memories to reflect
To reflect before sleep.
What is conceived to be real,
Is the dream to exist.
awesome poem
i think this too! but not just before i go to sleep, pretty much everyday. these thoughts hit at unexpected times.
am i really typing this comment, or am i just dreaming/imagining/pretending that i'm typing this comment?
I agree
Thoughts like these put me in a trance like state then I end up daydreaming about other things :)
greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends