Upon a blossom sat a butterfly
Spellbound by its beauty, I reached to touch
Before I could, it flew with wings of dye
Floating on air and free of any crutch.
And so the butterfly left on the wind,
What disappointment might have bloomed
Mattered not, for my full heart did rescind
The sense that fleeting beauty is thus doomed.
To see that gem take wing, light and airy!
I know for all the world I would not have
Kept that colored creature stationary
For beauty is thus, of motion made of.
A moment's flight in pure serenity
Is worth more than a still eternity.

Melting, dripping with time passing,
Wick still clashing.
Ashen, waxen,
Flame un-passion.

Holding candleholder handles,
Snuffing candles,
Watch smoke-shadows
Dance to who-knows.

Out! Out! like the light that it is,
But witness yet
Grey pirouette's
Dark banishment.

I am a carpenter, a dramatist, and a director,
And there’s little that all those skills are all good for,
But if you piece and you play and you pray,
They stick together just well enough to stay,
And you’ve hammered and scripted together
One little dream that’ll last forever.

A good dreamwright is hard to come by,
The kind that builds dreams that don’t die.
It’s a shame there’s so few of us
When dreams are needed in abundance.
Someone needs to make them from scratch
Oil the hinges and make sure wheels attach.

Some of us are good, some of us are bad
But we’re responsible for every dream you ever had:
The nightmares, the adventures, the vivid fantasies,
That play on your deepest desires and anxieties.
We are the ones that make sleeping souls laugh,
For this our artform and dreams our craft.