dreams

Sleep pulls at me
Like a Ford Tundra
I can't resist

I don't want to

I know that
You'll be there
Waiting

Ready
To wrap your arms
Around me once more

But in my dreams
You're not leaving
We have time

The setting varies
Like a set of postcards
They're all beautiful

We can stare
Into each other's eyes
Uninterrupted

We can laugh
As we play pranks
On each other

There's no worrying
About how much longer
We have together

And then dread
Creeps over me
Like bedbugs

I can hear
My mother's voice
Calling

Trying to wake me
From my reverie
As if it's a nightmare

Suddenly
You're leaving
Again

And I'm drowing
In my own tears
Of sorrow

As I wake up
I try not
To let her hear

The pain
In my voice

It's not her fault

Once she leaves
I'm back
Back in my dream

Thankfully

But the phone rings
And jolts me awake
My face still wet

And this time
There's no
Going back

I'll have to wait
Until twilight

A deafening roar issued from the army as it surged forward as single unit. The red and white flood raced forward across the field away from the safety of their towering stronghold. I couldn’t hear my own battle cry, lost among the masses of the other voices, but I knew I was screaming myself hoarse. I was at the front of the charge, sitting atop a glowing white horse, brandishing a silver sword over my helmeted head. I glanced down at the hooves of my horse, at the green grass flecked with multicolored flowers as it all sped past at mind-numbing speed. I looked back up at the ugly horde before me. They had ragged banners scattered randomly through their ranks. I didn’t know what any of the myriad species were exactly called, but they were all of the hairy, fanged or just plain disgusting variety. With a roar just as loud and twice as haunting as ours, the motley assortment of red-and-black-clad beasts charged.

Stream of dreams, a field of white,
touched by the cold of an iron rail,
chugging chugging, moving on,
towards day, towards night,
dream train in a burst of light.

Screams the train, and dreaming on,
in moving, where does thought belong,
or if a moment meets the eye,
the dreaming train might pass a cloud,
once hidden in a misty shroud.

Locomotive motion spun,
the rails of train of dream are set,
to bind the real and loose whats not,
for train of dream is moving on,
and catches thought, and then is gone.

No one on this entire planet can say that they don’t have dreams. Everyone, at some point, dreams about who they want to become, what they want to do with their lives, or who they want to spend their lives with. ‘Following your bliss’ means going after your dreams. It means never giving up and chasing the dreams that you want to become a reality. To follow your dreams means to do whatever you possibly can to achieve them and not letting anyone get in your way and deter you from your goal. Never give up and never surrender!

Nightmares are spies
Hidden in the corners of your dreams
Unseen, untouched, unremarkable
Careful observers they are
Noticing what makes you cringe
Scream and tremble in terror
And then. . .
They pounce
Latching on to your weakness
Making you tremble, cringe, and scream
Until you are terrified out of your mind
Then they slink back into the shadows
Those crafty nightmare spies

Snow Covered Dreams
By: Derrick Spalding

Snow falls, covering the Earth,
In a vast blanket of cold enjoyment.
The snowy stars fall from space,
Carrying the hopes and dreams,
That were prayed to them,
On the hot summer nights.
As it heats and the stars melt away,
Along with the old dreams.
New ones begin to grow,
Like the plants in the spring.
As the new stars form,
They are filled with more heavy wishes,
And fall once again to the Earth,
To bring happiness back to the dreamers.

I dream of a world with only peace,
And bright yellow flowers in the snow,
I dream of a little pond with ducks,
And for hope filled rainbows.

I dream of pink fluffy skies,
and water so blue,
I dream of lush green trees,
And of me and you.

The thing I dream of most,
Is for you to like me,
To love me and hold me and dream of me.
I wish that was reality.

On Eloquence

By W.T. Smith
Hanover High School, Grade 11

What would we give for eloquence?
Would we change what we had to say?
What did we do with innocence?
Did we lose it along the way?

How many times are decisions made
By the words that we know how to use?
And how often do we give our dreams away
Because we have to choose?

So if you speak a different tongue,

What are dreams?
A figment of your imagination?
A random thought,
That floats in your mind?

What are dreams?
A wish that wanders?
A hard-thought prediction,
Of the distant future?

What are dreams?
A whisper of creativity?
A split second shot,
Of virtual reality?

Dreams are important,
A necessary implement.
Dreams are reality,
A private therapist for you.

I linger in the doorway
Of alarm clocks screaming, monsters calling my name.
Let me stay where the wind will whisper to me,
Where the raindrops as they're falling tell a story.

In my field of paper flowers,
And candy clouds of lullaby [flowers]
I lie inside my self for hours,
And watch my purple sky fly over me [flowers]

Don't say i'm out of touch

A beautiful woman in passing
sold me a deceptive bag of seeds
A green seam in the corner read hope
but she argued that they were just peas.

With a snort I tossed them far away
to the back patch of my mind
Unattended they slowly began
to flourish nourished by my dreams.

Sprouting up to starlight’s gleam
they paved way to the mythical
Where roaming Giants teamed

This is an excerpt from a larger piece I'm writing.

“Why don’t you listen to me, Angela?” it was the voice, a whisper, harsh, and without feeling. Cold.
“Hello? Who are you?”
“Angela, leave. Leave before you can’t.”
“Answer me!”