We are alone.

All alone in the dark,

But somehow, that darkness seems like light

To the human eye.

That is how we began:

In the arctic, barren, and sinister nothingness.

They call it the human race for a reason.

That reason being,

We are all trying to get somewhere.

Where?

No telling.

We were born

Into a world that is vile.

We were born

Into a world that loves

More deeply

Than any other world conceivable,

Yet, the human race still sits alone.

What do we do on our own?

Do you dream?

Do you dream of a world

Unlike our own?

A world that makes even the finest reality

Seem undesirable.

What if we, in fact, are always dreaming?

What if we will never know

When we are awake?

Is the reality of being awake true?

Is it just another dream

to be awake,

to be alert?

When you are alone,

Are you really unaided?

Is the sky a figment of the mind?

Are the stars lined up just to fool us?

To make us believe

Our fantasy is valid?

Are we flying to the stars and back

Only in our wildest imaginings?

Is the world merely a haze

Of our own ideas of fidelity?

That the entire human race exists

In only in the mind of a higher power?

Will we ever know?

Has anyone truly lived?