Winsy Tink - Reduction

If waking is no escape from terrible dreams,
nor sleeping relief from my waking hours -
If my senses confuse conception with reality
(Or has reality always been a pure product of the mind?) -

If, reaching out to a prize held out,
it crumbles at my touch like saw-dust -
Or if I grow up, bitter and disappointed
that I will never be tall enough to pick those diamonds from the sky -

If the realisation that nothing is as it seems paralyses me,
And I cannot be as I was
or would like to be,
And at the end of the day, all falls away -

The whole substance of my living will be reduced to my only asset and sustenance -
Faith -

Without It,
I am nothing.

Winsy Tink

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/reduction-2/