I can capture
a bird’s flight,
a mountain’s splendor,
a tiger’s roar.
My pen
marks the crisp
white paper
like footprints
on a snowy trail.

My dreams
are alive,
and leaping
like sparks
in my hands.
To dream is to speak
a thousand words
and never speak at all.

In my dreams,
I fly
like a
new bird,
like the quiet
of the storm.
The music
that flows
from my eyes
is like currents
of electricity,
and it powers me,
the dreamer of dreams
to live.