There were,
In my memory,
jackets, scarves and another dimension
at the back of my childhood

Time is the sea -- tumbling blue and gray ahead of me --
I dangle a tentative toe in the froth of

There is a list of things that I’ll never say,
Tucked away,
Far away. Where no one will ever

I don’t want to write another song.
I may be bitter but my heart is in one piece
Except for the

When dying breaths never end,
the bells strike noon once again.
Lost dreams cry, begging one's

At night I dream like a mad man with an ego noble like a hero in Tahiti and a lover in France
A

I will tell you anything
You might want to know:
Just please let me sleep.

Resistance is worn

walking into the day
like prey to a trap
hidden under the dust on the side walk
i trip and bust

Our journey is wasted
when we hanker for things
that might have been .
With open eyes, the

I'm a pen's worth of altruism
in the construction of earth.
My creation is a monologue -
a solo

My dream, your dream, our dream.
Why do we need lock and key?
Did you lock those dreams away,

My morning meditation—a musing of how and why in an unspoken soliloquy:

Why do Saturdays now hold

You jump with joined feets
You draw a smiley face
You chew sugar free gum

A constant flow of

Love bears the harsh winter
as if it's spring or summer

It's youth and wisdom paired
quite

I am the dreamer
I choose the dream
I chase the dream
The dream do not chase the dreamer
But the

I can only quiver,
Seeing in the night
Intruding shapes that haunt my dreams,
Spirits taking

Infinity.

Her silent introspection
reveals self is bottomless

She seeks the stars of night

I am a representative of life
I am not the sole exhibit.
There are billions of us
living,

Abracadabra !

In solitude,
dreamweaver steps
into her memory box
where experience
and all

Most of the people
Are afraid of themselves
They hide in a hug of society
Wanting to avoid dialog

weaver
catches with gold
its dreams

Every night in my dreams
I see many wonderful places
They are places of my childhood
And places

Miami and thoughts of the jasmine hedge, home
in a circle of sky as she floated.

False words
Reguritated in an
Effort to
Eradicate our
Dreams and
Our hopes from our
Memories

Small hours of the night
Thinking of you as always
No space for others, things
You occupy all my

A Picasso Dream.

In a Picasso dream,
I climb steep spiral stairs
to distant milky galaxies,

Marc Chagall rests prostrate in the pasture,
breathing the air of creation and conversion.
And,

Dream on Dream on, O Soldier of life
This world is but a space, that in your mind

A muse'd.

Released from a life of freedom
she trips into ties of sheer delight.
Her muse

Please don't bid me goodnight
Still have many hours of light
before I sleep and close my eyes
to

Once upon a time there was this little girl.
wanted to have it all, the prince and the castle
He

the darkened room
cools gently

drawing dreamers
to unreal planes

veiled footfalls

Sleep caresses the Muse
draping her thigh of fancy
across his flank of resolve.

She whispers of

MIRIAM

I was with you
At the borders of the sea
Where deliverance came
Saw you dance with

I dreamt about you crying
You were holding my hand tightly
Like I was some sort of object
To

What is a voice if it doesn't sing?
Talking, brooding, calling, crying.
What is a voice if it

Weary time at its last moments
Ending another precious day
With happy smiles, enjoyments
The dark

It should be.

Before secondary level my onset of interest had been introduced to be.
With the

Living in a world that I created,
As a prisoner of my own mind
And I never want to escape it.
I’m

Dare I ask where you are
Can't find you in dreams
Searching skies, earth
everywhere...
Nor in

Paris is not France,

Paris is not the “West”,

Paris is what we dream,

And what we dream is

Your captivating smile
will always be with me
only thing worthwhile,
only reason in life to

Henry was a young bright man whose love for his muse,
was a vast unending sea of which dreams

Fore thee I write a tale inked with my plumage
A Story of A Poet's candor feelings for his muse
Is

Where the moon goes when the sun comes up
To where does the light chase away darkness
I know that

The words betray the meaning
Behind the screen of pictures
The films inspired by my words
The

TEAHOUSE

The hot mists of the morning
Rise from the lake in the mountains.
Green leaves, ripe

Looking out my window,
Looking into tomorrow,
Wondering,
Dreaming,
Hoping,
That I may soon be