Waking

Are we home yet, or is my mind mistaking memory for actuality?
The sky drifts beneath my dreams.
Is there a chance I'm still alseep?

At my journey's end, am I still living amongst the billions lost?
And will we ever gain control of ourselves, or of our lives?
Will we have the strength to seek truth in our own foreign direction?
Why must we remain frozen still?

The sight of the ceiling will rescue me from the cycle, but will my eyes ever make that leap?