Who dreams?

Who dares to enter such a realm?

Visions, fleeting,

Escaping with the waking flutter,

Living on bated breath

And translucent promises of

A world all your own;

A world anew.

When you dream of becoming a writer,

You get stories embedded in your soul

Ideas of near and far-off lands,

And journeys down rabbit holes.

The gem did spawn of evil’s fire

The gem shall be his portal

He comes to claim; our time is dire

The end of all things mortal

His reign of evil, he did conspire

The gem shall be his portal.

A mindless leaf fluttered out of nowhere and perched on my sandaled foot. In the distance, a disorganized medley of birdsong made up an unrehearsed orchestra. Idyllic as it was, I was in the middle of a fairly typical snapshot of spring.