Our heads are filled with fantasies, but we don't see the realities.

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‘Tis the wish of all, one day to sleep,
Within a bed, of silken sheets.
To sip on nectars, fragrance sweet,
To walk with gold, beneath our feet.

To reach for love, as from a tree,
And only beauteous things to see,
To fly with birds, so high and free.
These things, and more I’d like to see.

All these things are for the taking,
If, from our dreams we would but waken,
And fantasies wild were but forsaken,
We’d see the mistakes that we are making.

Yes! We can fly, just like a Dove,
Soar on high, with clouds above,
Drink of wine from Heavens Grove,
Sleep, in a bed made with hands of love.

If we would look into our hearts,
For this is where our freedom starts.
Our flights of fancy come from the heart,
Not, from our minds, but far apart.

Fanastic dreams, they fill our heads
While wide awake, or asleep in our beds,
Yet many things fill us with dread,
It is not death, but failure instead.

All these things, for which we strive,
Are deep within us, would you believe,
It is not gold, keeps us alive,
But a simpler thing, called LOVE ….

Robin. A. Spicer © 2003