A Gaze Through My Reality-scope

Hands

Dreams so close yet intangible,

like peering through a window.

I feel so confused I don't know if I should push or pull,

I know how to reap but how I do I sow?

Living in a world that's so dull,

it's determined to go fast but it's stuck on slow.

The future isn't a mystery,

it's a novel, written as we live, we determine if we win or lose,

and the dreams that push us constantly,

is the ink that we use.

Isn't it ironic that heroes are victimized regularly,

and the villains hardly even get a bruise?

What's outside this window and these walls,

will there be anything I can understand?

My life seems as boring as a leaf that falls,

and when I'm sinking in tests can I really find a way to stand?

Let's lean on one another, so that when one person calls,

they'll find several outstretched hands.