Dreams are imaginations that set you free
Dreams are the stuff that emancipate fettered hearts,
meandering absentmindedly

Dreams give hope and last till infinity
Dreams are a rope to cling on to sanity
For when the world hast been tarnished and depraved
dreams are but a cascadence and showers of grace
washing you gently ashore,
into another chimerical world
in which is only soon to fade

Your beauty shines especially when you help those around you,
I can see your inner light shine brightest
when you are standing dearly beside him,
and let him know that you will always be there.
Let him know that you will stand by him
even at times when he's given up.
Let your beauty free, let your beauty roam,
Let your beauty shine through,
for I know that you're beautiful.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Why are weeds considered ugly plants?
They are but the most beautiful anomaly in this cruel and unfair world.
Despite the lack of water and necessary care,
they still manage to find a way through the tightest and inhospitable of cracks,
chasing the warm kiss of the sun,
and to be showered by the cleansing rain.
But when they do overcome their hardships,
greedy, unrelenting hands reach down,
and strip them from the earth,
pulling out their roots,
and throwing them away.
Then the place that they worked so hard to exist in,
is taken over by some eye-pleasing blossom.
Real beauty is not found in those that are given everything,
but rather in that of striving to simply be,
to overcome obstacles,
and rise above,
no matter the circumstance.
There is something beautiful about that fight and determination,
and nothing profound about a flower that is nourished with constant love and affection,
because they will only grow to be weak and fragile.

254

“Hope” is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.