Dreams always fool us. First they will barge into our sincere sleep, cause us to mingle with them, to unite with them and then they die incomplete with the first yawn of the morning.
Ruthless, they are. A mantle so grand they will build, it will belittle every realm of the vast sky, a story so untold they will narrate, you will love it as you love a new born.
The night gets raven, the dreams get tyrant. They will conquer you, they will consume all of you. You will wander in the alleys of your dreams, your mantle will shimmer so bright as to beckon you, your story will bicker so loud to urge you to scribble it.
But the night travels swiftly to its end. The dreams fall weak, the alleys seem ethereal, the palace fades away, the enthralling story dies an insignificant story as you go and see the sun.
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