A field of flowers with pens for stems and poetry for leaves,
Clouds that shed tears from their black depths,
Roses whose scent drives you away while the thorns draw you nearer,
Springs and lakes filled with tea,
Trees made of imagination with candy for leaves,
Blankets with wool, feather soft, and silk, coarse and suffocating,
Ice cold fire and candlelight that reminds me of the sun,
Cherries that shine bright green, but taste like sunflower seeds.
Dreams become reality or is reality just a dream?
A voice so beautiful it floats away in the wind on glittering wings,
Skin so white it resembles the pale moon with freckles instead of craters,
A soul as pure as a newborn child with a heart as cold as winters' gifts,
Eyes as blue as the never-ending sea, with hair that falls in them hiding the color,
Only to be brushed away by fingers as mesmerizing as butterfly wings but as caring as Mother Nature can be,
A smile as perfect as your favorite memory,
A frown as deep as my penetrating sorrow,
With a laugh so joyous it sounds like an angels' choir,
Yet a sob so heartbreaking, you make me forget all my woes.
This is you, this is me, this is my dream.
You're like an imaginary friend,
You make me feel wanted, special, needed.
Alas, you are just a dream, I made you up.
You're just another figment of my imagination,
But until I wake up, this is reality.