Dream of Choice

write please read and enjoy

In confines, comfort, intimately I confess

to me a dream does not come at nighttime,

it happens over your lifetime, you see it as nothing less

than a reality, where you've done it all right

and achieved what you could at your very best

perhaps as simple as a career, car and a new address

I see a man who owns very little, on very much land

and he spends his days in solitude, a revered calm from the ink smudged on his palm

when he closes his hand around a pen, embracing the solace reinforces his attitude

deep breaths, long hair a mess, his home open to the wind that blows a cool summer breeze

handwritten notes, each letter is an atrocity, yet he stacks pages a day with ease

The thing about him that I want more than anything he has,

is when he stops, nothing else goes through him,

and when I see him looking to me, forlorn and hopeful

I know he'd part with that for someone who needs it.