QueenBee

I wait for inspiration

To strike me while I think.

I wait for a lightbulb

Or a thought bubble

Or lightning.

I wait for those ideas

I know I have to have

I remember a time

When I felt so free

And everything, anything, I wanted could be.

The person next to me was everything

The worlds we created were ours.

Our vision was color and light and laughter

Dear Mr. Snowman,

I wonder what it's like, being made of snow.

What have you observed? What all do you know?

On warmer days you could melt 

Or be blown away by the breeze.

The evergreens

The piney forests

The lakes and hills and mountains.

Today they're thriving

Well surviving

But what will it be like in 2050?

I see an image

Similar to today's.

Green everything

 The snow comes down in big flakes

Wet, but puffy

Pleasing and cold

Landing on my nose

My cheeks

My eyelashes.

It is officially winter.

The giddiness that comes with the first snowfall

Dreaming

Like floating

In the impossible abyss of unknown.

Subconscious

Becomes conscious

Becomes something

Not quite reality

Not quite not reality.

Dreams are an in between