This dream is a movie,
Moving like a kaleidoscope of tempting wishes.
Beautiful like an orchestra.
Creative like people, forever angelic like faces.
This ballad is an inspiration,
For abysmal thoughts to animate.
Like a spider trying to climb,
Like an artist trying to create.
This journey is life,
Life that must go on.
Like a train that never stops,
Like the feet working on motion.
These words are swords,
Hurting the poet’s soul.
These lines are evil,
Haunted by a ghoul.
This poem is nothing,
Without a meaning to interpret.
This is a song,
Unfolding truths, revealing secrets.
It is nothing, it is empty
It has no thoughts, it is obtuse.
It is something, it has words
Coming out of the muse.
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