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,

                
                       my nightmare.