The following is a poem, written by myself, about dreams. Not a very original topic, I know, or my best work. Please feel free to criticize, but don't e plain-out mean, please. :D It's written in Elizabethan diction, by the way.
"Dreams"
Vivid dreams are but wishful lies,
Fragile whispers through whisps of night.
Whimsical pond'ring of those who sleep.
Some are lost, others safe-keep.
Sonnets of pa.ssion, tragedies of woe,
Ballads of servingmen turned fabled hero.
Taste of whiskey on ripe tounge,
Yet another melody sung.
Little faeries prance on foot
'Round fire dancing with ashes and soot.
Seize life, ye young travelers, roam;
Spring from decrepit past-life's tomb.
Spend the treasure that you reap
From shallow realm of dreaming sleep.
By Lindsay P., written February 17, 2011.