Dreamer

A poet dreams, like a lover loves. Or like a hater hates as the mad man sees devils. And I am a poet who dreams or observes the purity of nature. I observe the suns rays as father, and mother is rain. I dream of earthly ground stays still, a solid rock before our feet as we sleep at the fall of darkness, or the edge of dusk at horizon. I dream of eyes as colored green, gold and hue of blue, I dream of rainbows appear at the peak of dawns and the smoke from a flame. I dream of light as a silver tint giving the motal's ability to see, the rouge heart beating a melody of drums, and hands that sense the texture of silk or against a lover's skin. I am a dreamer therefore I write with a pen. I am dreamer to observe, and I dream with all my might because I am a poet.