Dreaming of Another Reality

She lives in illusions so complete
They form the pavement at her feet
There are no cracks to fall between
As she walks a boulevard of dreams
Her head is full of fairy dust
That makes the cogs of her mind rust
And the shadows that walk at her heel
Defy the shape of what is real

She fails the simple recognition
Of what is living in her vision
She sees the things that are not there
She breathes a sweeter, freer air
She moves in worlds of her creation
Her very own idealized nation
She roams a land that's free from fear
A province built upon a tear

Her body needn't feel the cold
Nor fade into the dust of old
She far transcends the simple Earth
That so misunderstands her worth
So quietly, she slumbers now
And as I watch, I ponder how
Since she lived in such fantasy,
She must dream of reality

A string of imagery that came to me as I pondered: What happens when one lives in one's own mind, seeing reality as they wish it to be? The 'real life' that we each see is a perception of what really is, like a version seen in our own personal dreams. Perhaps, then, we are all dreaming, and real life begins at death, when we finally wake? If that is so, and this life is merely our dreams, shouldn't those dreams be as pleasant and whimsical as possible - especially if the 'real life' that awaits us is a much harsher ordeal? Conversely, if this 'life' is so full of suffering, it is better to blunt its edge by filling it with imaginings that bring comfort, and hope that when our 'awakening' finally comes, it will be into a much better world than this currant nightmare in which we live.