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.
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