Dead Dreams

They say we have seven seas and thirteen rivers.

And we ride on pegasi, with golden quivers.

Knights and battalions and armies, diverse.

Kings with crowns and positions of fevers.

But the night is dark and the blood is young.

Shooting stars, we shoot fire arrows at the sun.

There are dreams to die for.

These are dreams to vie for.

But we all know this isn't what it is.

No shining armor, but IPS screens of phones.

No glory like the former, but still attacking with drones.

No scars on the soul, just scratches on the gorilla glass.

No hurts that mold, just murdering the layman mass.

With such information, such technology, such over-surplus satisfactions.

That we have no dreams, no hopes, no tears, no jobs, no reactions.

They say we work like sheep and sweat like suicide bombers.

That we have aspirations to not be like our founders

Who were barbaric, ill-learned and ill-mannered.

Aren't we now hysteric, lined second but still not standard?

In an era where we have already achieved what we wanted to

We have money, power, gadgets, resources and science,

In an epoch where we were already born with weapons-

We have humor, judgement, the internet and license.

We need to breathe and that's the only thing left.

We need food to live and for our strength.

Apart from oxygen and energy,

I don't think we dream of anything.