Is it Safe to Dream for Her
She was four years old when I realized
the impact of having a child in my life.
How could one not love the innocent eyes,
smiles, giggles or tears that they cried?
It seemed that year after year
I would lean against the doorframe
of her room and watch her sleep,
so peaceful; angelic like, I'd swear
in those moments she was an angel.
Often I wondered of her dreams
and where they took her each night
after endless days of play
with imaginary friends with carefree ways.
Did she dream of them and adventures
she could not perceive or understand?
Would she remember them vividly
and replay them as a favorite puppet show
dancing to the finger tips of her memories?
As time passed I wondered as new dreams
demanded her sweet sixteen embrace, if her
childhood dreams faded beyond remembrance.
I watch her now seeing a replica of my youth,
with a ladled silent prayer, I dream for her
never to awaken into my past, in her future,