I know my answer isn't really the point of this question, but I don't exactly believe in prophesy nor do I dream a whole hell of a lot, so this is as close as I could come. Once, I dreamt that my cat turned into Godzilla. Even though it was AWESOME, it didn't exactly come true.

I apologize for all the jingoism. I don't know what came over me.

"I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men [and women] are created equal.'

I have a dream that one day [The United States], a [country] sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that ... children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin [or sexual orientation, gender or creed], but by the content of their character.

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true."

- Quoted and paraphrased a little from Martin Luther King Jr.'s speech given August, 28 1963 at the Lincoln Memorial, Washington D.C.


My dream is very similar to MLK's, only larger in scope. I'd like to see the American dream brought back to life, not only for Americans, but for the rest of the world, regardless of origin, wealth or gender; that every child grows up thinking they can accomplish anything through hard work and diligence.

I have a dream that humans will judge each other based only on their ideas and merit. I have a dream that people will realize that whatever religion or creed they believe is not the only one. We all have to share. We all have to get along and stop behaving as if this world was created only for us. I have a dream that The United States will stop acting like a big bully. I dream that I will be proud to live in this once-great nation; that the words printed on The Statue Of Liberty will, someday, mean something again:

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

I'm still waiting for the prophetic part.