I dreamed of a child who played with a worn cart
and saw through its smooth wheels
a long way to go and a trip without bumps.
That child didn't understand dreams, he was a dream.
It was the illusion of the one who keeps quiet
while smiling at the moon
and visit the stars at every blink,
in each overturn of the sun.

He didn't know about times or troubles,
neither of money nor vanities.
His biggest hobby was a kiss on the forehead before sleeping
and the heat offered by his stuffed dinosaur.
He was the most precious dreamer!
Every night he saw the roof of his tent
(he played under the sheets that he camped in the jungle)
and he thought about those people who fed his imagination.

Source

Today his goals have mutated,
like the snake that leaves the skin to grow.
Now he's afraid of dreams with cockroaches
and he runs away from the children who scratch the walls.
He has more friends than nights to sleep,
but less time for work days.
Believe in the strength of the universe, in love,
in the fearsome snowman and in the snowflakes.

20 years later he is still a boy,
but now he knows about hearts that beat
beyond its borders.
From real people who know how to love:
"I said if you keep your heart open you can find some".
Those words are still latent,
in this child who doesn't stop dreaming
even if he knows that his dreams are too big.

For more:

Childhood [a poem of plenty]


Cigar [a smoked poem]


My soul [a poem in eight verses and one feeling]

Steem On!