I dream of flowers of all colors and shapes
Where did all this beauty come from?
The water and sun keeps them alive,
but do they sleep when the sky is dark?
I sleep, and dream happy thoughts.
The sun no longer burning bright,
but man makes his own clever light
and so life can go on.
My poetry bursts forth from the universe
like the big bang, the little imperfections
and bumps and bubbles that gave us life.
Lucky that it was not perfect or we would
not be here and neither would be poetry.