As today withers to past,
my present is still present.
In a second future is deceased,
the captured moment unleashed.

Picturing the coming beforehand,
reality is always less exciting,
Still dreams remain as dreams...
Nothing making 'em into real.

No intention to scape the world,
into perfect sleepy space.
Exit the current before entering next,
after the present ceases to exist.

The crumbled fortress' once built,
to protect the weak mind and soul.
Now proceed to the next level of eternity,
pass the bounds of identity.

Float through the unreal life,
skip they greyness called reality.
The entry to the completeness,
after the expiration of existence.

Pictured the coming beforehand,
yes, reality is always less exciting.
And dreams, they remained as dreams...
None of mine became into reality.

Relevance still left unfound,
to this peculiar stretch between.
These two worlds of mine,
which make me travel in time...

...a traveller of time...

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