I look in the mirror and I see
eyes of fire staring back at me.
I feel warmth burn from within.
There’s a fire creating heat
that forces me to my feet.
The ice in my veins melts away
the second I head on my way.
In the mirror, I see flames
become untamed. When I turn
around, nothing is the same.
My eyes of fire ignite my sight.
These eyes of fire feel right.
A single dream can ignite a flame
that can light up a dark room.
A single dream can jumpstart
a dead battery or a broken heart.
A single dream can reveal a life
that only exists during the night.
A single dream can create motion
that juxtaposes life’s commotion.
A single dream can shed light
without burning too bright.
A single dream is all it takes
to get moving to the rhythm
of your choosing. Dream on
before someone else tells you
that dreaming big is wrong.
You are the chosen one.
You are the burning sun
that lights up the sky.
You are the birds singing:
the sunflowers springing.
You are the love the world
desperately needs. You are,
by far, the most important
one to me and everyone
else. You know how to help
others that don’t know how
to help themselves. You are
beautiful like a naked smile.
You are sweet like honey
and crisp like new money.
You are the chosen one.
It was pretty easy to choose
you because you turn grey
skies blue. I knew to choose
you, and luckily for me,
you knew to choose me, too.
In my eyes, I have seen
shapes, colors, hues
of light. To my surprise,
I have realized life
is a movie played from
a projector in the sky.
In my eyes, I have seen
highs – lows. Anything
goes when no one knows
the difference between
the weed and the rose
or the heat and the cold.
Like a bank, my brain
stores large amounts
of memories that can
bounce or go blank
from time to time.
In my eyes, life unfolds
and ignites a light
that burns through
the night. In my eyes,
I see you as you should
be seen: a special fire
that will always rise.
I think he caught his second wind.
He keeps his cards close to his chest.
His back to the wall, he does his best
to weather the storm. Most thought
of him as a dumb idiom bum. Yet,
he was richer than the rest. He lives
in a house of business cards. Bet
he is a cat among the pigeons.
He buries every hatchet and burns
every bridge. He goes out on a limb
in cold blood. When life seems dim,
he looks on the bright side. Life is no
picnic, but it doesn’t get out of hand.
He writes his poems in a black book
in front of black cats with black caps.
He may give you the cold shoulder
or a skeleton from his closet. He is
the only human in a room full
of elephants wearing tight pants.
He raises the bar outside the lines.
He stays in the loop: has the scoop.
He will not drain his swamp.
No pain. No gain. And, he is here
to stay. The dumb idiom bum
chooses to live against the grain
because he is a free-spirit up to
no good for God knows how long.
IN YOUR DREAMS POETRY 