In the middle of the night the wolf pack howls
The girl stares dreaming out her window
Her grip on reality losens
As the weights on her eyes pulls them down
Her mind takes her to the snow white castle
Where the marble gleems with energy
The village boy waits in the mangroves sand
Playing with the muddy water as he waits for her
She walks down in a white gown lifting it as the mangrove swallows her
“ ready?” the boy asks joyfully as he gets into the boat
“ Yes where are we heading?” She questions
The corners of his lips tug up as the words fall out of his mouth
“neverland”

The boy sits at the edge of his chair
His ears craving her next words
She paints her stories like a masterpiece
The ones Picasso dares to dream
Yellows,pinks & Orange
Flow freely from her mouth
Her stories paint the air like a canvas
While the boy sits in silence admiring its beauty
Then one day it stopped :. The well ran dry
The only remembrance was the art in the sky
The colours of the sun turned to night
Blacks,greys,purples & harsh blues  possessed her stories
Stealing the beauty turning it to fear
Now the boy sits  in disbelief
His mind often ponders the thoughts
Of  how something as warm and bright as the sun
Is now as cold and dark as the moon
Sometimes he thinks the stories were never real
Like it was all a dream