For I awake to dream sometimes.
I awake to fall, and reminisce.
Of selfish thoughts.
Of seamless acquisitions.
And reverberated faith.

All lined up in perfect rows,
all served on a silver platter.
But to dream is to be unconscious.
And to rever in perfect sense,
is to live with echoes of a nightmare.

I'd catch my breath if I could.
But time waits for no man.

There's no reason why I should turn around.