The smell of freshly mown grass,
A firmament of well lit stars.
Barefoot on a night so cool,
With frogs croaking by a nearby pool.
To the ground I laid down,
While everyone snores in town.
"Here I go again." I sigh.
To dreams and imagination I fly.
What is it with me and dreaming?
It keeps my heart always fluttering.
But reality and dreams, do they fit?
Will this trance always stay lit?
Hopes and dreams. They're befuddling really.
Loving them may make me look silly,
But mad I'd rather be,
Than never to have dreamed for me.
Truth be told I'm big on dreaming. I have this thing about imagining and conjuring scenes in my head about myself, the people around me, the world and the universe. I do it before I sleep instead of counting sheep when slumber doesn't come. I do it to kill boredom amidst heavy traffic. I do it when I'm bored. I do it when I'm feeling bad or down in the dumps. Dreaming has brought me to places, both mentally and physically. It's a sweet escape and my way of mentally taking note of my ambitions, my aspirations and my life's worth of bucket list. I'm sure others might find it crazy but daydreaming will always be something I personally cherish. How about you? Do you like to daydream too?
ABOUT "SCRIBBLED POETRY"
I make up stories in my head. I'm a dreamer and sometimes perhaps a lunatic. Writing keeps me sane and while I'm no New York Times Best Seller (yet), I'd love to call myself an author. This blog serves as my digital manuscript. I've kept countless poems, stories and whimsical thoughts for years but never got to share them publicly for fear that people would steal them and take the credit. (Which someone already did by the way! If you're planning to do the same then scoot. I can track you down like a bloodhound.) But it would likewise be a pain to keep them for myself. I'd love for people to enjoy them as I did writing them. — Anne Macachor