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Faiza Arakkal Feb 2018
I’m a dreamer
I fly around galaxies
Finding my home
I was once trapped in stars
The ones that shines the brightest
My squint eyes still tried to look for
The home that would take me
Days passed by
Months passed by
Years passed by
I will never give up
I will never ever let go
I will never ever let go
‘Cause I'm a dreamer
Mb Feb 2018
"What will others think"
is the reason for my shattered dreams.
-mb
Jennifer DeLong Feb 2018
Dreamers fight for one night
to live within there dreams
Daring the ghosts
to float near them

For one night the dreams
are of love lived
passionately

Realizing it's what hearts
desire as dreamers
live as us

Daring as it may seem
to fight so willingly
for what comes
so naturally

Where is my dreamer
where is the ghost
of passion
I wish to dare
to float here
near me

Come as you are
come be my dreamer
come see me

© Jennifer Delong 1/2018
Hannah Zedaker Jan 2018
Dead,
the day before yesterday.
Grieved by it, personally,
Reputation: few or no friends
Suggested art - lost its erratic stars
A dreamer! Dwelling in ideal realms
                          -the brain-
Madness

Melancholy

Indistinct curses with eyes upturned, already ******.
Happiness wit hglances introverted, shrouded in gloom,
arms wildly beating spirits - sought to forget
close by,
those glimpses
open to the doom of death
I pulled these lines from the Obituary of Edgar Allen Poe to construe a poem that I feel has both a theme of its own but draws aspects from Poe's life as well.
now, unlike my usually trenchant literary librettos, I regale the unknown (tum me) reader for savoir-faire articulation, elocution, and indomitable tour de force proffered by a spectrum of bounteous expropriated hegemony rightful to Mother Nature.
--------------------------------------------------------
A Place Revisited Within The Mind
(an illusory escape during dead of winter).
The shafts of a golden veil, spring sun at noon
break through the heavily coated
overgrowth of leafy foliage
and cause shadows spar upon the forest floor.

In a field of wild
a mosaic of crystalline color
from the prismatic play of sunshine
upon the silently talking heads
of the swaying stalks.

the scintillating and sparkling rays
in unison with the weft
(and warp across an invisible loom)
weaves a delicious tasting warm breeze,

(which sways the boughs of treetops to and fro,
akin to an unseen baby being cradled)
brings a ladled spate of cool freshness
from the map-cap world (webbed wide)
of a manmade existence.

The grandeur of the fallow spring meadow
a pageant of exquisite dignity
by the graceful movements
from the un-choreographed fall and rise
of the unplowed acres

eyes orbit, ear re Canal,
and twitching nostrils of sensate beings
to the mellifluous sounds
and sweet smelling aromas
that gently teasingly assault the senses
beguiling the sight,

and lulling ears into a transcendent state.
A buoyant airy tonal plume
rises into the surrounding heights
touches the breadth of cerulean sky
and scythe lent lee gently tumbles back down
like a merry widow waltzing flowery waterfall.

In quiet circumspection
the antics sans plethora of BuzzFeed ding
busily buzzing foraging insects,
which contentedly hum and alight nearby

flitting to and fro
oblivious to plaudits encore
harmoniously thriving
within the living laboratory

of Mother Nature,
sans, Insects or Insecta are by far
count as the largest group of
hexapod invertebrates
within the arthropod phylum,

where simultaneously
underneath the earthen surface
the ground this abustle with
glorious heartthrob
of one micro universe
comprising architects, builders, and weavers
engage in all manner
of natural devices for a livelihood.

This brilliant splendor tantamount
with top-notch operatic performance,
a sensational visual and audiological feast
hypnotizing one humble human (me)
into an inebriated state of bliss.
Inga M Jan 2018
i am awake at hours  
                                    I usually
                                                    spend
                                                               in dreams.
Inga M Jan 2018
She stares at her window at 2am
like others
only stare at paintings.
But what are those
compared to what she is gazing at, so miraculous.
Her window with the stars outside it
is her favourite painting
and nature itself
is her favourite painter.
Star BG Jan 2018
I am a philosophic dreamer,
moving on fields of open mind.

I dance and steps vibrate
in patterns of sacred geometry.

I sing and music echoes
causing heart to expand with grace.

I breath deep and lungs fill
with air infused wisdom.

I love and the universe matches my essence
so miracles occur.

I dream and all fits into place
inside divine timing.

I am a philosophic dreamer,
blessed inside the celebration of life.
inspired by Ravindra Nayak Thank you
If you're a dreamer
going without sleep
thinking of bigger things  
whats holding you back?
if it's anxiety
maybe you're age
maybe people you know
an illness?
it doesn't matter
go live your dream.
if you want it bad enough you can do it.
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