A dreamer is
the medium to life that puzzles together
the miracles of the Universe.
He isn’t godly or holy;
He isn’t a wizarding character of fantasy.
A dreamer is a creator of hope;
and with hope,
life begins…
I am grateful for growth and voila moments of clarity. ❤
Softly, somewhere, a piano sings
A whispering tune that I have never heard
It’s my hope, the sound of the keys is encouraging
My own fairy tale, just without the violation of words
And I find myself remembering, or at least believing, that
I could remember the place of collective self and happiness
It’s without Greed, the killer, the monster that will devour the world;
A plague that ravages you from the inside.
Legs shaking under the steering wheel, I hide it
Blue lights flashing in the rear-view mirror, an intrusion of the night, they hurt my eyes
A confusing warning, a paranoia sponging up the awkwardness
In that moment, I flash-forwarded to a million scenarios of what was in my pocket
The system is corrupt and weak
But we still believe it
We are abstract clouds that wander through the fields, their sheep
Somehow lost in this crossfire of a country’s desire to everything
I am grateful for good blessings. ❤
There once lived a man who claimed he could fly.
He said he was a true pilot of practiced skill,
Also known as the difficult type, but he was loved by us all;
and their colorful words and phrases depicted him well.
This man loved, as so many romantic men do,
Like his whole body was roasting on fire.
The acrid smoke clouding his judgement;
The heavy heat making living unbearable.
A gift was offered, it was long ago;
A gift that everyone has forgotten,
But the man who flies can see the world,
He’s become a hoarder of memories that don’t belong to him.
He suffers now, afraid of what he might remember;
Because she doesn’t.
How many lives are allowed in one sense of time?
If there is a favorable notion why you hold them so close,
Then, it’s okay to divulge the available details.
I am grateful for the sun, especially on cloudy days like today. ❤
A dreamer doesn’t play pretend.
For him, every thought could change the Universe.
He is the only being that discovers what it means to live.
I am grateful for half days and lazy mornings. ❤
Butterflies, how do they fly?
Little velvet wings that shine like stained glass in the sun.
Such a delicate life;
An explorer of illusion made for beauty and wonder.
The Monarch of the tree paints it a fiery orange;
Orange has always been my favorite color.
The battle for the tree is illuminating;
It’s so remarkable, this insignificant magnificence of a whisper
I am grateful for photography. I love living through the lens of a different camera! ❤
Muse Writer 