Someday

I would like to fly someday, In the clouds I dream to play.
By jet pack or wings I'll soar, To walk the ground is such a bore.
On white pillows I will sleep, Through white mountains I would streak.
Ski down slopes of powder puffs, Feel the wind both calm and rough.
Run over fields drinking vapor wine, Airy prints I'll leave behind.
A castle of cloud stuff I would mold, A flying fortress to behold.
A lofty kingdom I will rule, The moon my Queen the Sun my Fool.
Stretched as far as you can see, Cloudy lands over earth and sea.
Lightening and rain - by my will. With snow and hail the skies I fill.
A ceiling of stars decorate my house, Icy poles mark North and South.
In the future look out for me...
For my dream - I will shape - to reality.

Eden Martinez.

(Background: This was written on a flight from the west to east coast. Storm clouds over nearly the entire trip, and I usually had a window seat. I stared at clouds, above, below, and inside, for hours. With me, I had a CD Player and a pencil and pad. When my batteries ran out, I decided to write. Thus this previous work.)

Poem

I'd shower you with roses, or maybe one or two...
Because the beauty of a hundred roses, could not compare with you.


Eden Martinez

(Background: This short and depending upon your opinion, sweet, poem came to me a flash of inspiration. Not much thought at all was spent on it to be honest. I was still living with my cousins. It was around Christmas time, and raining outside hard (rade for San Diego). Sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag, in the family room, I had a roaring fire going. On the floor staring at the fire I let my thoughts wander, and that's the four rhyming lines my mind found.)


The light of truth is split by the prism of history into a spectrum of facts.

Brian

(Background: Brian is a character on AmberMUSH, who said this quite spontaneously. I deemed it was worth display)

Limitless power mad with endless rage
Withering a soul; a minute seemed an age.
He clutched and hacked at ropes, at rags of sail
Thinking that comfort was a fairy tale . . .
John Masefield

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