ode to the dreamer

Another English assignment.

She holds the light of stars in her pockets.

She takes them out sometimes and stares at their glittering glow, entranced –

But the world is dark,

and the wind is cold,

so she puts them back into her pockets and closes her eyes.

She holds the world on her hand, and it

Revolves, like a lazy top against her cold palm.

She smiles at the valleys,

laughs at the mountains,

grins at the lakes,

giggles at the rivers,

because the world is such a beautiful place in her eyes.

She wears strings of words around her neck like a necklace, and presses her lips to them like a lucky charm.

She wraps the night sky, both clear and clouded, as a cape around her shoulders.

She shuts her eyes and smells the sun as it sets.

She hides behind her books and smiles like a child,
Naively –

With full confidence that they will shield her against the harsh spears hurled from mocking mouths.

Because she’s not strong. Not brave. Not clever. But she’s learned from the heroes.

Heroes who are strong.
Are brave.
Are clever.

The dreamer knows people

stronger –

braver –

cleverer than her.

And they dwell silently, affectionately, immortally in her library.

And she’s learned so much from the words they’ve placed

in her mind and

inside her heart and

on her tongue.

So for those who find her odd,
Full of delusions,

They can’t snare her in their crude nets.

She is free.

Her dreams are being woven into the fabric of reality.

So she raises her head.

She strengthens her will.
She makes brave her heart.
She sharpens her mind, and –

For a single, triumphant, beautiful moment,

She is


For now

and for eternity

the dreamer has breathed life into her wildest dreams.


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