Some dreams are like soap bubbles,
Colourful and transient.
Rising up in the air
Only to to break.
Still we dream,
Living in soap bubbles.
Anticipating them not to break.
Shouldn't we tell or hearts to wake up
From the sweet dreams they are dreaming,
Beautiful but impossible,
To the staring realities
Harsh and painful?
But we hold on to them,
Refusing to open our eyes,
Knowing, one day or the other,
The heart is going to break.
Let it break, break into a thousand pieces,
We can pick the pieces and mold it again
Into something even stronger and beautiful
Which can dream even better,
Dreams for real.