Dreamers

The feverish passion of fervent dreams,
dreams that will not die.

Though the storms of life threaten them,
there they stand in solid sight.

Still there after all the hell,
dreams ring their little bells,
as if to yell,
“I’m still alive…”
not waiting for the soul
to quell.

Sailing past the jagged shore,
dreams press ever at my door.
On the wind a song must be,
the dreamer’s imagination beckons me.

So I take my pen,
my hammer forged,
and I begin to build as unto the Lord.
To reach as far from earth to sky,
for dreamers still dreaming
and passersby.