I was a dreamer
who dreamed many dreams
a dreamer who wrote
with a pencil and paper
instead of an illusionary
paint brush and canvas
I would sit for hours staring at my paper
dreaming of words that swirled about
creating clouds filled with rain,
pouring down on the earth
but only a few drops would even touch me
for a wind resembling mind block,
shooed the words away
while simultaneously hailing
on someone else’s mind
collecting and soaking up all the wonderful words
that were supposed to be for me
and me alone
But a dreamer never stops dreaming
no matter the circumstances
a broken heart for instance
or an interval of inability to write
can never stop the dreams of a writer,
for long,
at least
Heart break and ache have
found me once again
and the few rain droplets of words
that have so stingily fallen on my mind
have yet to hinder my love to dream
for writing is my passion
and one true love.