The Old World

 I try not to break down crying
When I think of the world I knew.
It was world based on numbers and patterns
Where everything that was said was true.

I remember a world that was simple
A world where everything mattered.
A world where you knew what was rude
And what things should make you feel flattered.

I remember a world that was cruel
Where nothing seemed to make sense.
I was told it was only me,
The problem was that I was too dense.

As time went by, something changed.
Nothing was as it had seemed.
I look out of my window now,
And wonder if it was a dream.

The sky overhead is still blue,
The roads and stores are the same,
But I now realize that our world
Isn't as simple as they had claimed.

Our world isn't based on patterns,
It's based on the stories we tell.
The pictures we paint, the songs we sing,
The worlds in which we all dwell. 

The only things that matter to me
Are the things I know that I feel,
How can I speak the truth
When I no longer know what's real?