A Young Dreamer

A gentle wind flows in through the trees

Carrying the scent of apples and pears.

I awaken under the sound of rustling leaves,

With flower petals in my hair.

I dreamed of flying with mighty dragons

And swimming at the bottom of the sea.

I write my dreams down as fast as I can

Before they scatter away from me.

My journal is filled with endless scribbles

Of ideas that stretch out towards the moon.

Stories, poems, an ode to my (soon to be) true love, 

And sometimes I draw silly cartoons.

The sun is setting, so I'll be back tomorrow

To dream and doodle away.

My time is my own, but not for long,

For all of us have to grow up someday. 

Artistic Masterpieces

I watch my young son play with clay.
He kneads the dough with determination,
Pushing and squeezing,
Not knowing exactly what he's working on.

He presses it and tears it apart,
Watching closely, inhaling its scent,
Smiling as he squishes the clay
Into a logical form he sees in his mind.

In the end, he is satisfied with his statue;
Its uneven edges and bumpy shape
Made up of carefully selected
Rainbow colors.

He places it on his shelf
Next to his other masterpieces
Of unidentifiable objects,
And picks up another fresh piece of clay.