Poetry

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Drifting Dreams

Drifting off into a dreamland of sleep,
a place of excitement, adventure, thrill,
where mountains are tall and ever steep,
and magic appears at it’s own free will.

Colors so plentiful they create such a sight,
places with people who have a special craft,
creatures small yet full of strength and might,
where such a cold wind creates a nasty draft.

Dreams are the gateway, visions they provide,
a sea of thoughts for which they often lay claim,
blizzard happenings from which we can’t hide,
a realm of forgiveness, sorrow and even blame.

A babbling brook to a stream to a raging river,
dreams hold things that work, things that break,
stories that fall short while others often deliver,
a land of enchantment yet no more than we make.

Dreamland is a place where we don’t have to refrain,
time passes so quickly, it over in less than a blink,
where everything happens but nothing is contained,
a life time of memories can vanish, gone in a wink.

Samuel E. Stone, Copyright© 2010, All Audiences

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