As I close my eyes
My dreams come to life
And they become my reality
Because for me
This is as good as it gets
Slipping further and further
Deeper and deeper
I fall into a land far- far away
As I open my eyes
I see a land of never ending green fields
Of children running and laughing
People singing, conversing, and dancing
Closing my eyes
I smell the rows of delightful flowers
I spin around
Feeling the wind through my hair until a hand caught mine
Stopping,
I come face to face with him
The man of my dreams
His face is so soft
His eyes so captivating
All he has to do is smile
And I know he knows everything I feel, think and want
In this world
I do not have to hide
As I twirl into his arms
I’m in a place where pain is foreign
I can obtain anything in life from here
If only reality was this good to me
As he lets me go
I turn around to find that I’m falling of a cliff
Going back to reality
All I can see is the water coming at me
Falling, falling, falling
I wake up to see I’m in his arms
How can this be?
Was it only a dream?
Or did I really find him?
I think I have
What will reality hold for me now?
With him anything is possible

lines, color, and shape,
Make up a soft picture,
A vivid memory.
As I walk closer,
It seems further away.
I run to try to catch it,
But it opens its wings and flies away.
I try to hide and pounce on it,
The memory just fades away.
As I touch the photograph,
It disappears into the dark leaving me lost,
Without a memory.
finally without a sound,
The memory appeared.
seeing only blur figures,
In the photograph.
I wonder if I,
Did not capture the right moment,
of the life of a love one.
That I hold so dear,
scarred from the pain.
I realize the faded photograph,
Is the memory I took.
Not focusing on the true,
Beauty of their life.
I captured only,
her pain and death.

A faded photograph,
What a waste of film

When your daughter is young,
you watch over her so she won't get stung.
You gaze into her sweet baby face,
so full of love and beautiful grace;
a sugarplum fairy, she's extaordinary;
a Joan of Arc, down to the birthmark.
When she turns sweet sixteen,
you see into the eyes of a prom queen;
a change so dramatic,
it drives you psychosomatic;
you practice meditation,
but it's still a complication!
Then comes her own love story,
lovely like a morning glory;
arm in arm eith your baby girl,
who's dressed in white like an ocean pearl.
Step, step , step all the way down the aisle,
you look at her face and see her smile.
Years pass so quickly, next thing you know
you're watching your precious granddaughter grow.
"Good-nught, Grandpa," says your little Snow White;
with tears in your eyes, you're feeling all right