How come, in my dreams, every car I drive has faulty brakes and a sticky gas pedal?
Things don’t always happen for the best, but we can always make the best of what happens.
Because “F=ma”, some believe Mother Nature is a mathematician.
Because “There is an equal and opposite reaction for every action”, I believe she is a poet.
Paper clouds of crayon white,
hang in their 2D skies.
While crayon people down below,
live out their 2D lives.
Her drawing in its cardboard frame,
hangs square above her bed,
with covers cold and dusty flat;
a pillow with no head.
In here I stand and look around,
at where she slept and dreamt.
In here she gave her dad a hug,
and smiled before she left.
She’s grown and gone into a world,
where dreams and dangers bound.
No longer in her childhood bed.
No longer safe and sound.
Somewhere above her curly hair,
clouds hang in 3D skies,
while real people down below,
live out their 3D lives.
Unfortunately, for the right price, most things are for sale.
Muted sounds and snowball rounds,
arranged along the ledge,
are readied for the battlegrounds,
that lie beyond the hedge.
Abandoned angels in the ice,
lie frozen in the scape,
while from the window billow smells,
of breakfast meals baked.
Soon the sun will melt this stage,
where kids in mittens played,
erasing all the traces in,
the place of memories made.
What if destiny is prologue?