I wake up every morning with the voices of my dreams still fresh in my ears,
I spend the entire day planning how to relive those moments from my dreams,
Some days I am sleighing through the snow, in Alaska, rolling around making snow angels,
Other times, I am sailing towards sunsets, on a raft my hair wild and my skirts flying,
When I wake up I try to give the dreams Life, fill them with colours from memory,
But just like my life, they do not come out right, they lack in vibrancy.
Some one once told me I was a conservator, I was prone to preserve things,
I had denied, because even though I did try, I failed every time.
I had no conservatory of my own, I peeked into other's, just to see what could be important enough to preserve,
But all I found seemed inconsequential to me,
So my search continued, I took to tattoos, to preserve my dreams,
But my skin fell short and I ran out of space!
I once picked up a book, that said stories had a world of their own,
I could sail or sleigh, ride or drive, run or hid, fight or fly, I could do anything,
I could even keep my dreams alive!
I read the book and lived my life, I bespoke my truth, through tales of Late,
And imagine my surprise, when I find, the tales were ed on and on,
Though there were minor alterations, yet the adventures of my dreams lived on!
*Pictures and gif are not mine
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