The Brown Eyed Dreamer

'Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.' William Wordsworth


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Raindrop’s Revival

I like to walk in streets of rain,
When droplets gently prod my skin,
Slipping down collars along spine,
Cold streams tracing icy lines.
Shivers escape from between blue lips,
As golden sun escapes eclipse,
Shafts of light pour through darkened cloudy clots,
Lift my head, heavy with darkened cloudy thoughts,
Towards horizons where hope still survives,
A brief reminder, I am alive.


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Kiss in the Rain

Rain falls in time to a quickened heartbeat,
Two pairs of eyes slowly begin to meet,
Wind whispers through fingers intertwined,
Your lips reach forward to touch with mine,
A slow kiss in the midst of a storm.


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The Little Things

The smell of freshly made coffee on a Sunday morning.

Sand falling through fingertips and breeze blowing through hair.

Rolling back over and falling back to sleep.

Goosebumps that cascade along spines when a new favourite song is played.

The feeling of being the only one awake in the world.

Setting down a pen after the last exam.

Waking up to shafts of sunlight pouring through the blinds.

The freshness of newly washed clothes.

Having a child scream your name and run towards you, arms outstretched with a huge grin.

Seeing the sun rise or counting the stars in the sky.

Watching someone smile and blush when you compliment them.

The sound of a piano in a huge and empty hall.

When coloured glass makes bright mosaics of light along the wall.

The musty smell of old bookshops and libraries.

Stumbling across a scrap-book full of memories and stories, vaguely familiar and almost forgotten.

The dull thud of rain against the window.

Babies wrapping tiny fragile hands around a finger.

 Because sometimes it’s the little things which are the most precious, and the most beautiful.