The Dreamer's Dream

I envy those who are able to actively and easily leave reality. I wish I had the ability to jump on a flying carpet and go see New York. I wish I had the capacity to develop worlds within my mind. I would love to be able to see things that no one else can see, and to see them clearly. I know very few people with this talent personally, and even fewer who have complete control over their talent. It seems to me that if we could all slay dragons in algebra class, tour Rome while doing yard work, or even take a nap on a cloud when, in actuality, it's naught but a couch, life, and all its more depressing components, would become much more bearable and possibly even enjoyable.

In my house, in order to get to the bathroom, I must walk through my little sister's room. When I open the door I see a bed, a desk, a mirror, a closet, and countless piles of strange trinkets she has collected over the years. I see nothing more. I obviously make this trip quite often and I see the same scene every time I enter her room. However, I am convinced, this is not what she sees. The above picture is not of my sister nor is it of her bedroom, but the idea is very much present. As my dear friend walked through the door of my garage, I had a quickly passing, strangely sensational idea. I called her back and told her to walk through the door once again. She did so and, in mid-step, I pressed that little silver button that, when I heard the open and close of my shutter, knew that only half on my image was captured. Later on, I captured a beautiful blue sky painted with large, billowy clouds. I then put them together into one, single image. I'm not entirely sure at what Emily sees, but this is what I see.

To Emily, I'm jealous of your creative mind:


I'm jealous of the dreamer's dream,
Of sights and sounds extreme.
I envy the ability
To leave reality.

I stare at her, her dancing there,
Completely unaware;
Perfect kind of aberration:
Mindful vindication.

She's met them all, all in her brain,
Save dragons not quite slain.
I think she's now contently smug
On swiftly flying rug.

She opens doors to worlds unknown
And calls the clouds her own.
I'm jealous of the dreamer's dream,
Of things not often seen.