When I was little
There wa a little toyshop
It was so little

On my birthday when
I was little I'd visit
the little toyshop

It had little toys
and some big toys , it made my
little red heart big

When I was little
the sky looked big , now I'm big
the sky still looks big

When I was little
my house was big , now I'm big
my house is little

When I was little
Daisies looked little ,,now I'm
big..they're still little

Everything is big
And everything is little
Ants are little too  

This is a little
poem , yet my mind is big
like the universe

When the dust settles
You all will see
I left my mark on the world
For everyone to see
Magical memories
Of the visions of me

Spreading the pixie dust of my mind
Unweaving the inner workings of my brain
Connecting the dots,
Creating a special moment,
Writings of feelings, life and friends,
Creating words at random,
Writing raw and imaginative poems,
Making my mark in at least one persons heart...
             For everyone to see that
                        This is me

A midnight flower dances in the moonlight;

An owl soars through starlit clouds;

Glistening dewdrops sparkle in the shadows;

Crickets chirp amongst the stillness;

The wind howls through the darkness;

Crinkle of paper as the insomniac turns the pages;

The only sounds which stir in the night.

Poets are made of bone , flesh and skin .
They swim in their folly
thinking in the end they will win .
They are having the best waste of time they've ever had
Locked inside their rooms
that have no walls
Saying nothing , nothing
Nothing at all


Prime time never arrives
Their latest masterpiece
Is so , so , so contrived
Best hope is they will die
long before they fall
After all . . .
It's nothing , nothing
Nothing at all

It was the best waste of time
they ever had

I remember all the best
Deep in my midnight's rest
Now I remember the kiss
that brings tears to my eyes
I remember riding bicycles
Under October skies
Now there is no chance
No turning back
Or looking back to glance
Because you will not be there

So the memories have been
Written off the page
The recovery has all been staged
Turn your head and say
To the ghosts of another day
I wish you well
Just as when we were all so naieve
In our wildest dreams
we never thought to learn to grieve
Now all I can say . . .
I wish you well