My chin rests on the dent of my palm,
I am hopefully staring into space
where the blur of the white wall that is before me
becomes an empty palette for me to draw on
to paint a map of the future,
of the roads and paths and routes
untidily scribbled on the
blank canvas plotting my dreams
with sketchy untidy thoughts with blurred out edges
of a vision full of innocence and lack of experience
but making the raw marks easily amendable
leaving room for mature modifications
as my dreams ripen
I am dreaming of days that will come,
Dreaming of ways that will let me become
But our dreams are like clouds,
They are made in the air
They keep floating with time
Further from us
To distant places where they will be lost
And we will be left staring at an empty sky
Not knowing in which direction to go.
If we sit idle,
Lying in the grass, staring away
expecting the cloud to descend one day
We are mistaken
because dreams are meant to live in the skies
high up above which is why we strive
and achieve for higher ground
because if they were as prevalent as the flowers
on the verdant grass
anyone could pluck it without any stress
but like clouds our dreams travel with time
mature with wisdom and age
the further they blow away
They become faint distant memories
so don’t just sit and stare
and always be aware
gather pieces from your life, and create a platform
pieces of experience
that will stack up to create
a stairway bringing you closer    
to help you attain your cloud shaped dream
and when you are near, hold it close,
nurture it and help it grow
and never let it go