Famous Poets

The First Dream ~

and as I lean against the door of sleep

The Wind is ghosting around the house tonight

I begin to think about the first person to dream,

draped in the skins of animals

talking to each other only in vowels,

for this was long before the invention of consonants.

He might have gone off by himself to sit

on a rock and look into the mist of a lake

as he tried to tell himself what had happened,

how he had gone somewhere without going,

how he had put his arms around the neck

of a beast that the others could touch

only after they had killed it with stones,

how he felt its breath on his bare neck.

Then again, the first dream could have come

to a woman, though she would behave,

I suppose, much the same way,

moving off by herself to be alone near water,

except that the curve of her young shoulders

and the tilt of her downcast head

would make her appear to be terribly alone,

and if you were there to notice this,

you might have gone down as the first person

to ever fall in love with the sadness of another.


Life is like a bunch of roses. Some sparkle like raindrops. Some fade when there's no sun. Some just fade away in time. Some dance in many colors. Some drop with hanging wings. Some make you fall in love. The beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Life you can be sure of, you will not get out ALIVE.(sorry about that)