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Sean Holshouser Apr 2017
The wind cuts like a knife across the sky,
Twisting and swirling like the peeling
Drawn off of a freshly grown cucumber.

Air splitting the cool frame of daylight with a
Shocking smoothness, grazing the grass like a
Dressing on the morning dew,
Breaking silence at the dawn.

You and I've been here before,
Casting shadows on the floor.

Saw your smile splashed on your face,
And all of my fears disappear from my mind into the cold,
Clammy hands of some other man's nervous disposition.

Hearts unlocked, emotions talking with the
Soft pluck of a harp and the sound of a thousand trumpets,
Intertwined like silken strings; spirits warm, like the playful
Morning dewdrops that the crisp wind dances and hums its wistful tune over.

Finding solace in our eyes, singing our bright melody,
We are dreamers at heart, but you are my beautiful reality.
When I hold her gaze
meaningless trinkets are priceless
in the reflection of her eyes
such beautiful eyes that melt me
or turn me to stone
in my mind everything she touches
is gold dust
in times of turmoil and uncertainty
she makes the stiff breeze become soft
my gorgeous best friend
my lover, my world, my rock

She knows how to comfort me
though I'll never feel good enough
whilst all I want is to comfort her
and let her see that it is me she can trust
she turns the stars to diamonds
then she makes bitter taste sweet
she fills the numbing nothingness
with everything that sweeps me off my feet

She is holidays in the sunshine
she is weekends reserved for us
she is late nights tucked in bed
she is cuddles on the late night bus
she is the one that never lets me forget
exactly how far I've come
a lesson learned with her is wisdom
there are many I'll never forget
her love teaches that love itself
and decency are the reasons we regret
and I'd be lost to this turmoil if one day
I woke up and we had never even met
I dream of greener pastures
and I ain't getting any younger
struggling to find the time
searchin' my pockets for pennies
lottery tickets and sunshine dust
well I never put my eggs in a basket
imagining the fruits of my labour
were full of vitamin c
they always told me education was key

No, I don't rely on a teacher
or confide in someone who doesn't
confide in me
well I hope the demon's love is true
or I'll find myself even more lost
hopelessly used and abused
and I'm just killing time
oh yes, I'm just killing time
starting to think that time is killing me

Dreaming of things '*** I'm a dreamer
and we ain't getting any younger
you said you'd get married when
you're twenty-five and I said
I'd quite like to get married now
but I can't find the time
searchin' for the minerals to ask you
can't afford the wine or pleasantries
they always told us we need to believe

No, I don't believe any preachers
or confide in someone who doesn't
confide in me
well I hope the demon that loves me is you
or I'll find myself even more lost
hopelessly wasted and confused
and I'm just killing time
oh yes, I'm just killing time
starting to think that time is killing me

I dream of strength and closure
and I ain't getting any younger
once I was three weeks sober
searchin' for reasons to quit
starting to think that I never needed it
well I never had any eggs in my basket
but I always had a *** to **** in
and a window to throw it out of
they always told me that what goes up

No, I don't get my hopes up
or confide in someone who doesn't
confide in me
well I lie because I hope my dreams come true
or I'll find myself even more lost
hopelessly sinking without you
and I'm just killing time
oh yes, I'm just killing time
starting to think that time is killing me
.
.
a dreamers song
Julie Jun 2016
I never thought dreamers could fly,
Seeping through winds, kissing the sky.
Dressing their bodies with tulles of white silk,
Impersonating clouds in their suits of bone milk.

I never thought dreamers could fly.
I always believed they were a part of the sky.
Not seeping through, but one with the wind,
A cosmos in their smiles, stars breeding in their mind.
What are they? These dreamers beside me? The dreamer in me?
Brianna May 2016
I've dreamt of perfection for as long as I can remember.

The perfect way to kiss you.
The perfect way to hold your hand.
The perfect way to smile at you.

I've dreamt of irrational men who fancy things I don't.

Irrationally dreaming of love.
Irrationally falling apart when you didn't want me anymore.
Irrationally self harming with toxins.

Throughout my dreams I've been alone on and off for long periods of time.
I've watched sunrises and sunsets alone.
I've watched my heart fall into a cold chill alone.
I've watched myself slowly forget what making love was and the difference between love and lust.

Throughout my irrational dreams, I've fallen for a few boys who could never fulfill those fantasies.
And lately I've asked myself one question:

Is it time to settle and accept my fears or continue irrationally dreaming of a love I'll never truly have?

But no answer has come to me yet.
Nick Moser Apr 2016
There are some people out there that have wanted to **** themselves for some time now.
And there are some who have bled blood from their bodies to drown out the tears.

There are some people out there who were once the brave ones.
The cool kids.
The strong warriors.

These people, they were once dreamers.
Who are now haunted by nightmares.

These people, they were once believers.
Who are now wearing the handprint of life bitchslapping them in the face.

These people, they were once fearless.
And now fear is the only thing they want less of.

But these people, they haven’t given up yet.

These people fight every day to better themselves.
They fight to be strong once again.

These people haven’t ended it all, even though they feel like the world is pushing them to.
They haven’t given up.
They haven’ killed themselves.

But that’s not something you can brag about at fancy parties.
Brag, you believers.
Alanna Hoeveler Apr 2016
here's to the dreamers, to the ones who believe
to the ones who understand,
who look at and perceive

here's to the artists, to the ones who create
to the ones who invent
who still patiently wait

here's to the poets, to the ones who imagine
to the ones who are different
who try to take action

here's to the authors, to the ones who portray
to the ones who tell stories
who discover the day

here's to the dreamers, to the ones who can see
to the ones with compassion
to the ones who believe
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