What are dreams? (a passage of prose by Matt Singleton)

What are dreams? Should we have them? Should we rest without feeling? A dream is a painting of hope. Hope is the lottery we want to win. It is the weight of our life. For some it is the cornerstone of our temple. For others it is the anchor drowning us in our watery tomb. Our hopes we wrap up in our virtue. Our virtues light our life like a Christmas tree only before New Years. With all its beauty, the light so bright illuminates the presents now missing. Vestiges of ribbons strewn like a massacre of entrails. So many little shadows to dim us toward the dark. What is the dream? Is it a surrender to the night? Or is it a kiss to the morning? When you dream it can be all night and yet reduced to a minute. But maybe that minute is all day. Are dreams real? Reality is what we feel on our skin. But reality is only skin deep. We relate in reality but only at our skin. We are not in our hearts. Do we really dream or is it just in me? Am I alone, or is that you that's alone? This is why God is in my heart, because He'll never stop listening, and I don't know if I want to listen that much to me! But a dream is more than the echo in the cave of my skull. It is the Radio of my heart. The music of my angels and the talk show of my demons. Some stations are good and others are bad. I keep turning the dial and God keeps the stereo on as long as He wants. But I want a good tune. I hope its a hit. I hope it is heard, Will they dance? I guess I'll have to sleep and find out. I just hope I remember when I awake....