Am I Dreaming, or Am I Dead?

December 6, 2007
By Dillon McLean, Pittsford, NY

I seek her out in my thoughts,
As pure as November’s rain.
In all my dreams,
She rightly reigns.

Without mercy she divides,
And conquers
Every piece of me.

She walks in sand,
And leaves it glass.

Like a summer’s nostalgic breeze.
A crystal road forms at her path
So skillfully my dream she weaves.

Perfection.
Is not enough of a word,
To describe her.

When she talks,
All other thoughts seem irrelevant.
Hidden; unimportant.

My room gets quite,
My eyes blur.
So deeply I’m in love with her.

I ask her a question,
Is it Love? Is it Real???

She looks at me,
And shakes her head.

I must be dreaming.
Or I am Dead.


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