'Consciousness Is A Simulation Of Our Reality'

The silver moon upon the sea, A trembling ghost of light and foam, Is nothing more than what we see— A thought within a fragile dome. The stars that burn in endless black, Are echoes cast from ancient dreams, Reflections lost, yet looking back, Like whispers caught in silent streams. Oh, is the world a painted glass, A lantern lit by unseen hands? Do shadows shift, then fade and pass, Like waves that die upon the sands? For if we wake to find it so, That all we are is but a gleam, Then let me drift where soft winds blow, And lose myself inside this dream.