I have dreams that as the world spins
we will all succumb to noticing the motion teasing our insides
instead of tampering with everything outside of our grasp
I have grandiose dreams that as the world takes to an infinite pirouette
we'll take to practicing spotting so we don't miss this motion picture
spinning whimsically around our shoulders


I have dreams of a paint pallet nestled softly in your hands
while painting the details of our oceans and trees
for a live audience because maybe then
maybe then, we can see the world as the work of art it is
and stop burning books that haven't been written
maybe then, we can stop dumping buckets of the cure for so many lives over our heads
maybe then, maybe then, we'll see that we're all but a percentage of a brush stroke different, and the strife and wars and capturing of life has never been justified but rather lied about in a game of telephone spoken in different languages

now...that's a twist

I have dreams of our world over time in a stop motion
like as the sun creeped over our skylines it took a capture of the world each day
and in each flick of a photo gone by, leaves fall and never return because their frame work was stolen by thieves
the seas rise taunting the cities and the people bustling about the staggered streets
the sprawling fields you painted in the last stanza are peppered in a multiplying phenomenon of a species gone mad


and sometimes I worry my dreams are turning to nightmares
because I rarely conclude my stories with a mare riding into a sunset with a knight and his dreams
but I take to remember that your dreams are made up of a concoction of everything you see and maybe this elevated sense of realizing is everything I need