Life is But a Dream

Looking all around as I travel through my day,
People seem predictable in each and every way.
Going through the motions as it begins to seem,
That this life I am living is really just a dream.

How can these things be happening everywhere I look,
Didn’t I just read this somewhere in a book.
It seems to be the same thing each and every day,
As if in a loop of time forever we must stay.

Is this dream just repeating; going through my head?
Could I really be at home; just lying in my bed?
Maybe all these people, who seem to be so kind,
Are simply in my head; a figment of my mind.

But if this is a dream, I should be able to fly,
So why do I just stand here, every time I try?
So many little dramas that happen all the time,
The things that seem to happen; isn’t it a crime?

They’ve plagiarized life and set it in a book,
For I know I have read, the work of this crook.
For something that has been so real throughout all my days,
Seems to keep on happening but in subtle different ways.

This surely is a dream just going through my head,
And surely I am home; just lying in my bed.
But here is just a thought, or so it would seem,
What if we are characters in someone else’s dream?