These doubts Are all around you, Surrounding you, Crushing you. Telling you the real face of your hopes That “they are just holograms” They influence you, says ‘Go touch it, tell me am wrong’ And you do. You reach out with your hand To prove and to make sure… That they are real. But the doubts win Every time! And there are some sounds Of crack deep behind, echoing. The doubts are logical. Hopes are dreams, magic, the rabbit. It’s everything that doesn’t have proves, is unexplainable. Doubts; everything understandable, possible(till), proved, told. But What if doubts didn’t exist Hopes and logic was a mix. What if doubts weren’t doubts, But a motivation for hope. What if understandable, proved and told Were just told so you can go beyond them. I mean What if the idea of doubts Weren’t to crush But to make you go further. Then there’ll be doubts, saying “Go touch the clouds, tell me m wrong.” And you touch it. though there was nothing, you don’t feel the surface. But then you see the water dripping from your fingers And the doubts wear his smug face.