I was dancing
With him
I didn't even know him until I was in his arms
Handsome, though I hardly care
Charming, but because of his soul, not his words
And warm, in a way that wasn't physical
He held me like he knew what he was doing
Like I would be safe with him
Like a promise
In the most beautiful white dress
And I was beautiful
The most beautiful girl there
Everyone wanted to dance with him
But he chose me
And I couldn't believe it
We danced all night
And of course
I messed up the steps
Tripping over myself
Clumsily, as usual
But Lord I was beautiful still
And he just smiled and somehow found it lovely, that I was imperfect
He whispered to me
And we danced and danced
And I was beautiful
**Then I woke up

Amongst the city
Dreams come bursting alive
Swallowing children

I saw the old man circling the tree trunk
Weather beaten skin, bent gnarled hands
and piercing blue eyes

He seemed to study every knot and crack
in that ancient timber

Then without a word turned and picked up hammer and chisel

The wood chips then began to fly and like confetti on the ground lie soon in heaps some ankle high

Occasionally he would stand back and look but never once a rest he took

Mallet strokes both hard and soft some from under some aloft fell there with unerring skill always busy never still

Long into the night he worked now by the light of an oil lamp and so the tree stump 'neath his hand then became a work of art

At long last he stood and turned to me and said three words " that'll do lad"

I approached to see just what he'd done and there I saw the perfect rose every petal and leaf in place the slender stems in the breeze did sway

With no plan or picture he had made the start
And created the perfect work of art.


So what is creativity? Well that's your next challenge.

No love poems because they've been done a million times. This time something unique

To be what they want
Is to win a battle
To be who you are
Is to win a war