Dreamers trapped in mediocrity,
Dreaming dreams in chains,
"I'd make a difference if only..."
An excuse; mere complacency.
We watch the bloodred sunset
In the West,
Mourning with the rest,
Clip-on white-collar,
Routine unchanged in the
Face of Terror,
Potential near boiling,
Silenced by Necessities:
Education,
Bills,
Money,
Technology,
Personal princedom the priority,
Watching world burn through the web,
Occasionally sculpting with words,
Guardians; Watchful reminders,
Creations of a dreamer
Dreaming of a life of influence,
Reminding Present of the Past,
But Art meant to Remember,
Clutters dusty corners of
The same Web that gives
Eyes to every corner of the world.
To every Dreamer then,
Remains a stone choice:
Do we continue to remind?
Do we rise up from the ashes of
Monotonous routine;
Do we Create until cluttered creations
Push themselves into the line of sight?
In the face of those who Burn we stand:
The Artists, the Dreamers, the Few.
