Reality is treacherous.
Its conformity is maddening, and the rules insanely sane,
The walls of uniformity are clouded with illusions that seem delusional,
And freedom and constrictions seem one and the same,
I am a dreamer, yet I fancy myself a creator,
I build worlds from the shards of a life that lacks flavor,
I prefer the freedom of love, hope and death,
And I crave the obsession of life and birth,
I am a dreamer, and so a world of facts and truths I shun,
I am a dreamer, a dying race, under the setting sun.
But the optimism of a dreamer is maddening,
Filled with hopes and dreams that are inherently saddening,
I am a wordsmith, a romantic and some might say a visionary,
Creating universes and queens from the extraordinary,
I am a romantic, and I desire the audience of the stars,
I am a romantic, and carved on the walls of my heart are a million scars.
I am a wordsmith, building walls from worlds torn at the seams,
I am a dreamer, fleeing from the banality of life through my dreams.

You were sleeping when I've found you lying down on the cold ground. Homeless and hopeless.
You didn't seem to trust anyone but you let me held your suave hand in mine. I took you under my wing but you were still afraid. You didn't want to tell me your story. So I have waited for a long time. And when I knew, I've loved you even more. I didn't fall in love with your qualities and beauty at all. I was in love with your imperfections, the mistakes that made you unique, but most of all I fell for your broken heart. I had a mission. I had to fix all the pieces together. So when I did, when I saw a smile painting on your face and heard the beautiful melody of your laugh, I wanted to keep you by my side forever and never told to anyone about your existence so no one would ever be in love with you, as well.

Everybody needs you.
Everybody needs inspiration.
Everybody needs a ball of sunshine.

I've found mine and if I could I would have took him far away from any sort of individuals capable of loving.


But I woke up. You and all we've been through desappeared. Reality caught me up.

Back to lonelyness and the sweet sound of silence...

We house a soul
from time to time,
but often find our corridors
left empty.

No house can stay full forever,
lest those filled with zany dreamers
who seek thrill beyond their own
four walls.

Souls do travel
from time to time,
like old visitors who leave tips
on the breakfast table
of their favorite inn,
shortly before seeing themselves off.

Souls may stand
on our back porch while they torch
a cigarette
and quietly ponder on minute,
existential mysteries.

Souls may seek comfort
sprawled at our fireplace
or perched atop a kitchen bar stool,
seeking to feel the comforting
complacency of domesticity.

A soul may find
that cozy comforts are ever elusive,
exceptional to an existence in which
the most stupendous feel bewildered
and insignificant.

Alas, such is the nature of a soul:
from time to time,
a soul might not recognize
its own might.

A soul will fight to find a home
and seek comfort from its peers,
but a soul does not often hear
the invitation to call a place one's own. . .

Home.

We are not souls, we house them
and from time to time,
if we are lucky,
our houses open their doors for more
than just one stray soul
to invite himself in.

If your home can house many
it houses the greatest of things,
above all else:
Love.

If for only but an hour
I can tame my fickle mind
Find the will to build my armour
Put it on and make it shine
Fashion beauty where there's nothing
Turn the ugly to divine
Keep the fears and doubts behind me
Dream a world of Love... *Sublime

Slick grass glistened heavy
After summer showers fell before a sun
That trickled veiled toward transcendent trees
Towered on the outskirts of the demesne - It unsheathed
A pearlescent canvas for a dreamer who paints ideals;

A reader finding signs in smiles and glances
Strolling paths free of fear to free imagination;
Summoning hopes against a fresh red/orange
Backdrop, and ignoring perilous heights to cast
A thought to moments yet unlived -
This fool's masterpiece.

It's crazy to say
But I love him so much
Thing is he's much older than me
He's just so flawless
He big beautiful blue eyes
That are sometimes green
His perfect smile
Oh so stunning
And his voice
His voice
Is oh so beautiful

My heartbeat pulses
like the north star
in my lower lip: I am, I am, I am.

My hair is humid; it curls like
smoke.

I toss Petoskey stones back
to Lake Michigan
where they’ll be safe from
souvenir shops,

at least until they
land on shore again.

I suppose dreams are like that,

washing up again and again
on our eyes shoreline.

There's a place in her mind
where he can not reach,
no matter how deep
his longing goes.
Her form lies with his
but her closed eyes are
drinking in worlds
he never could,
no matter how much
he thirsts.
She's breathing in
ethereal elements
his lungs will never know,
because she is his dreamer.

Our life
Chronicled by simple drawings on a page
You are the artist
I am the dreamer
And together
The world is ours to explore
So ride with me
On a paper plane
Until the wind dies down
And we are forced to land