| When I Dream I Write, (and when I write I dream) When dream caster�s started out their thoughts were fantasy. In later years we did much better, now reality. Spooks, goblins, and weird creatures were not what we wanted. These became our night mares and frightened us with the haunted. My dreams are real to me, I don�t mean really real. Realistic enough I picture it like film on a reel. Beautiful woman mostly. And a few I know quite well. No I�ll not say their names for that I would never tell. Sometimes it�s a trip down some wooded path. Watching creatures playing, their antics make me laugh. Seeing wonderful scenery, woods and trees all around. For you see in a dream you can move about, and never make a sound. But the romance I like the most, the pretty faces smiling. Some with angels wings and some very trying. You may not believe me but these are in the day. Because I never dream at night, and why I just can�t say. My vivid imagination�s wild, I think all sorts of things. Like a prince takes a ladies hand and fits it with his ring. I can take a river walk or sit on Shakespeare�s stage. I can make a postcard scene, or picture�s on a page. . Now I put them on these pages to someday make a book. I don�t know how many it will take, so someday I�ll have to look I never planned on getting rich, I just want them written down. Maybe then before I�m gone my words will be passed around. Until that day I�ll keep on writing my imaginary love affairs. And dream of beauty in my mind with gold or silky hair. Beauty�s in the beholders eyes and I keep mine wide open. Closing them just to capture it, so my memories lie unbroken. The Masked Writer <-.-> � 2001 T Lovett |