To enter the doors of a dream is to step into reality.
To break the barring arms of guards of the self-conscious mentality.
The Real is a fraud pasted in minds by what others want of you; not what you know is yourself.
Except you’ve lost even that. A vision of yourself. True, undivided, honest.
You don’t know him or her, do you? The real unaltered you.
They’re different, they’re lame, they’re pathetic.
But that’s what it does to you, the real world of lies. You’re gorgeous; it thinks otherwise.
And so a lie becomes law.
But dreams are your refugee camps of sanity,
To save you from the gases poisoning your mind.
They cleanse what your eyes have been drugged to see;
They’re the windshield wipers to reveal what’s beneath.
Explore what’s behind doors locked in the real, find ideas ignored for their difference.
These are your weapons for greatness.
You’re a quiet bomb shelter built with the means to survive, but packed with much more to provide once inside.
So you’re armed, you’re ready, you leave the camp. A flock of the mindswept come running again.
But be ready this time, you’ve been nourished once more.
This war, this time, every time, real time,

You win if you remember the dream.