There is a waiting place where all my good dreams go
For a time when all my wobbly world starts turning slow.
Inlaid with Kings and dragons making angel’s wings in snow,
Butterflies kiss drifting in the garden, grove and meadow.
Hands of children shake yours as you pass on by,
Taking time to talk and care to hear the reasons that you cry.
Setting suns cast rainbows and they tickle your left eye,
Rain only pours when snuggling in your bed you lie.
And Christmas happens, but only once a year should sigh.
Candies topple from golden cups and creaky rusty drains!
And the only essays passed-about fly on paper cranes.
Your simple white clothes ne’er crinkle, tare nor stain.
And wild tigers prove ever-willing pets to train.
Goblins bowed over, writing poems of love on their desks.
Wizards waving here and flitting there fixing all the mess.
Solemn Queens and Kings oft duel, but only over chess.
And every day a new ball to which to wear your dress.
Fairies, never fairer, illuminate your path at night.
Princes, ever proper, hold you in their arms so tight.
Ladies how-do-you-do, curtsey, and are ever just so right.
The hero wins with heart and valor, which ever-conquers might!
Where dancing fits possess you and no passer-by stares,
In fact they beg to join the disco, that funky music flares!
Angry bellows are never heard falling up the stairs!
Up and up, into the air are the morning’s silly cares.
Do not you know this land as well my friend?
Can you not see a path of thoughts that truly has no end?
Then I’m so sorry for you’ve lost your land of joy and fun to start,
You cannot not see the beauty that I hold in head and heart.
Your potentials find your limit with each explanation you impart,
As you push you from what a wonder world, of which we all depart.
But please don’t make me brave the tides to join the flocks with you!
I need some to time to say goodbyes and see this once more through.
I’m not equipped yet to be bereft of magic, ghosts and clouds,
Of children playing round-and-round in voices, oh so loud!
I will not leave the safety where my deserted island stands
Known as Never-never, buried treasure, covered with toasted sands.
I can’t see my dream’s thieves, by whom my visions are plundered.
Those torrent waves of calm from which I’m torn asunder.
How dare you stir me from my tender slumber!
The embers ever fading with the constant thunder.
Pounding outside myself, roaring, shouting for attention!
I hold fast to that ending reverie; after a waking dream’s prevention.
— Life of Alexander- Plutarch