usual life

In this world, everything's just as it seems, No heroes to speak of, no grand, shining dreams. Folks gather in pairs or in groups, side by side, Sitting quietly, in their homes, where they hide. Ordinary people, in an ordinary land, Each one waking up, with their daily demands. Off to work they go, without much fanfare, Wanting something more, though they rarely dare. They strive for respectability, for things neat and clean, For stability, for the comfort of routine. Yet secretly dreaming of magic, of wonder, Of something beyond—though they seldom will ponder. They dream of miracles, but keep them afar, Afraid of the unknown, like a hidden scar. The magic wanders, then slips out of sight, Taking with it the hopes that once burned so bright. And life resumes its familiar embrace, People forget how to dream, lose their grace. "Let poets have dreams and their suffering too, I need money now, just to buy cigarettes through."