Maybe the grass will be greener,

The hills smoother,

The well deeper,

Sweeter—

If wishing makes it so.

If dreaming births hope—

I know.

The world won’t teeter,

The branch won’t bend itself low—

And the soil won’t rise to meet her.

Not for the dreamer

To grab hold of fruit that much quicker.

Nor will that water become liquor

Simply because it was told.

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Empty boxes now unpacked,

I pretty sure I left with more.

A new house with new memories,

But an old house with bare floors.

Still there's promise in the air,

And potential in the frame.

Perhaps here I will thrive,

I know it can't be the same.

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I sat upon a cold creek bank,
I often do this when I think,
Or ponder over the deeper things,
Like, "what does the future bring?"

Now, the water seldom answers back,
So I sit there, listen, and relax,
And let my mind wander off,
To other shores and other thoughts,

But today the water heard my cry,
And decided, though I don't know why,
To take interest in a lost man's plight,
And o...

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I must admit that I usually do a few, short and simple poems a day. There is nothing wrong with this, and I normally do, and will most likely continue, to write in this manner. But when I woke up today, seeing as it was my off day, I thought I might try something outside of my comfort zone. And so I wrote the longest poem that I have ever written (not so long by most standards, but long for me). I...

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The teachers told him not to dream too big,
That his talents lay somewhere other than Arithmetic,
That English would never be so kind,
As to reveal its secrets to his young mind,
That History was better served,
By someone who could steer its curves,
That Science was a distant star,
So he shouldn't try to reach too far.

Maybe because he was so slow,
He didn't listen to them blow,
But to...

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