Tell Someone Of This Dream I Had Poem by gregory collins

You are far away on this night.
The hot sun seems all but yesterday.
What matters more is just a little misunderstood,
like a bucket between the rain is my favorite color;
and that helps me to stay awake and belong anywhere but in my dreams.
That lets me know that names of my tears,
and prowl paradise and her strawberry wilderness.
Where we are watching shadows dance on the wall,
and it is not so nice here like winter in July.
But what am i supposed to do to really reach heaven without dreaming.
To be the king of a bunch of Heather,
and make the best of what sings like a song.
That i someday hope to paint the sky with all the unanswered questions.
Because every time i think about the soul i risk forgetting to breathe,
and so much depends of the dreaming done yesterday:
The dreaming i do when i wipe the tears from my eyes and get no answers.