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Welcome to our
Gallery
These are stories that were sent in by
our viewers. You can send a story or poem to us by clicking here.
*A.O.T.W. stands for Assignment of the
Week
Enjoy!
Microbes
By Scott, West Jefferson
There
are microbes everywhere, There in your kitchen and in your hair.
The microbes are very small, You can see them at all. A lot of
people really hope, To see it through a microscope. There's microbes
here, and microbes there. There's microbes living everywhere.
I think you know what I'm going to say, Wash your hands everyday.
Wash your hands everyday, So that the microbes go away
Untitled
By Tanya C, Niagra Falls
Feral
cats are the 'wild' offspring of domestic cats and are primarily
the result of pet owners' abandonment or failure to spay and neuter
their animals, allowing them to breed uncontrolled. Feral cat
'colonies' can be found behind shopping areas or businesses, in
alleys, parks, abandoned buildings, and rural areas. They are
elusive and do not trust humans. It’s Only a Cat!
Love
(in
response to the concrete poem game)
By Chance H, Denville NJ
Love
is an emotion that you share with another person
Love is sweet as marshmallow peeps
Love is hot like a boiling pot
Love is an emotion that I show a lot.
Tennis
(in response to the concrete poem game)
By Emilia P, Milwaukee, Wisconsin
1nis
2nis 3nis 4nis 5nis
6nis
7nis 8nis 9nis 10nis
Untitled
(in
response to the concrete poem game)
By Venecia, St.Croix, U.S.V.I
Every
morning I walk door to door
news
magazines
bills
and apologies.
..
A
concrete poem by Kate, Hillsboro
.
t
e
a
r
s
Note**
go to the concrete poetry page to learn
how to make your own concrete poem!
Mickey
and Karl
By
Sara, 14 and William, 15- NYC (not some messed up place like TX)
There
was once a boy called-- well, let's just call him Mickey. He was
a wierd sort of fellow, with a lazy eye and a hunchback-- but
I don't like judging books by covers so I'll explain what Mickey
was like. He was like fun tac. You know, the blue stuff that sticks
to things. In a less metaphorical sense, Mickey enjoyed following
others, letting them make his decisions and following the crowd.
Mickey lived in Texas-- I know, really, who'd want to live there,
in the middle of the sweltering desert. He had a best friend,
Karl, just like him. They were perfect together because they'd
both tag along and stick to each other. It was a weird sight to
see them together. Since they were both such followers, their
arguments were pretty funny:
"Hey
Mickey! Do you want to go to Happy Lanes or Texas Lanes for bowling?"
Karl said one day.
"Where
do you want to go?" said Mickey.
"Where do you want to go?" said Karl.
"Where do you want to go?" said Mickey.
"Where do you want to go?" said Karl.
...and
on and on like that until someone found them there and said they
were going to Happy or Texas Lanes. (since the only thing anyone
ever does in Texas is bowl) They would of course follow that person.
So
anyway, one day, Mickey had to leave all of his dear friends in
Texas to move to New York, the Big Apple! Poor Mickey had never
even seen an apple! Only cacti and sand. After quite some time
in New York, Mickey decided to invite Karl to New York for a visit.
And Mickey, Karl and all of Mickey's new friends decided to take
the subway to the bowling center in Neew York.
Now
Carl was very patriotic to his special down south state. He loved
it so much.
"Why do they all hate us here?" he said when he arrived
in New York.
But Mickey didn't know how to answer because he was following
Karl's lead. So Mickey said, "Yeah, why?".
And
Karl said, "I wonder why
This
conversation went on until some homeless bum paid them to shut
up. He had spent all his weeks money to get them to stop but they
didn't care. Carl and Mickey were once again united and they began
to daydream of days back in Texas, lying out on the sand, the
wind blowing all around, watching the vultures circle overhead,
the cacti swaying in the wind. "Those were the days"
they both said aloud.
They
were so close and so involved in shallow thoughts that Texans
always have on their minds, that they tripped and fell, almost
into the subway, a very weird thing for Karl who has never seen
anything so scary. It moved and shook the station. The sound was
too much for Karl and he hid under the bench. Texans always had
something for benches. Mickey sympathized with Karl and they stuck
together more than ever. Together they were so sticky that people
got near them and couldn't escape, ever. Soon they arrived at
the bowling center and Karl had an idea. "We can beat these
stupid New Yorkers, Mickey will be on my team."
They
both got ready for the big tournament. Mickey washed his hands
seven times to try to get the stickiness off but it just wouldn't
go. Oh well. He picked up the ball and prepared to throw. Oops,
the announcer came on the P.A system to remind them of a special
deal and Mickey dropped the ball! What silly Texans. Later on,
they were loosing by a lot. At first Mickey's slick NYC friends
told him the pins were cacti and he didn't want to hit them! Then
they mentioned Ellen but she was Mickey's idol whom they worshipped.
They stopped bowling, and began to think about her brialliant
invisible body. Just the mention of her name transformed both
of them. They turned to monsters that bite and scratch. When they
transformed back they weren't quite normal and Mickey's arm was
slightly bent. They didn't want to give up bowling now, not when
they were so close to each other. Finally it was over and they
were happy as could be. They had lost but they had found each
other. They laughed and frolicked together, their newfound friendship
had returned at last.
Disclaimer to all Texans reading this: Please
do not take offense. I'm sure Texas is a great state. William
and Sara do not have any vendettas against the state, even though
they may have personal issues with Mickey. Please do not write
complaint letters. "Don't mess with
Texas".
Untitled
A poem by William, 15, NYC
The sky above was crystal clear,
And the stars above shown down below.
In the majestic forest frocked the deer;
The mountaintops were covered in snow,
The evil, hideous creature of cold,
Lurks somewhere up there.
He causes misery while sitting on gold,
As if he is a stingy multimillionaire.
He sends storms of snow and ice,
And thunder is only a fraction of his rage.
It’s as if around all us he clamps a vise,
As if we were all locked in a cage.
One day the old man down the street,
Gathered his things and hit the road.
Rested where the village and mountain meet,
For on his back he carried a heavy load.
Up the mountainside he climbed hand over hand,
Without a tremble under the creatures gaze.
“You shall stop” was his powerful command.
Out of his walking stick shot a huge fiery blaze.
The creature of snow and ice gradually melted.
With a last burst of energy he reached out,
And from his wrist, shot hail at the old man who was pelted.
The old man was fast and dodged and ran and turned about.
The evil creature was gone forever.
Out came the sun from a dark cloud.
“How brave the old man was, and cleaver”
The children chanted in a crowd.
The sky above was crystal clear,
And the stars above shown down below.
In the majestic forest frocked the deer;
The mountaintops were covered in snow.
Fourteen
A poem by anonymous
Coiled toe socks
and eating pickled ginger.
Orangutans with tranquilizers
and shiny telephone buttons
with glossy numerals.
Forgetting to brush your teeth on a Friday night when you fell asleep eating jellybeans in your parent's room.
Cohesive statements and
rejecting a friend because
they didn't give you gum-
but "it's the principal of the thing!"
Remembering to wash your hands before every meal
while remembering the square root of 576 (I think it's 24)
A Story
By Chris, 14, Scarsdale
Shattered steel, mangled cries,
confusion all around and an eerie silence,
hysteria and a sense of shock.
They told us to go north - to safety,
but streams of people were in our way,
a traffic of insanity.
We were all shrouded in the common white,
littered from the sky like rain.
Upwards was a blanket of darkness,
and plumes of smoke that grazed the clouds.
Looking back, I saw an empty hole;
massive destruction where giants once stood.
There were feelings as fragile as broken glass.
A Poem
By Marlene, 12, Chicago
PARENTS
They pass through
leaving you alone
through the years,
trying to stay
a distance from you.
Now they ask you
for a ride. But when
you were young
they left you
behind.
When you're not around
they hitchhike
away from you
leaving you alone
for no one to see you.
They act like you aren't even there.
A Princess Tale
By Jimei, 14, NYC
The Princess Silvia
du Monte II of Langwood, was perfectly happy... well almost. She
had a perfectly lovely family, even if her brothers did sometimes
tease her. She had everything that she wanted! And she was perfectly
lovely too, there was just one small problem... Princess Silvia
du Monte II was a cat.
Now she was a perfectly
lovely cat, with fur the color of cream, a little pink nose and
soft paws. But it wasn t entirely satisfactory for the Princess
Silvia du Monte II. For she lived in a family of humans and had
once been a human herself too, although she had been only a baby
so she couldn t quite remember it.
I knew that we should
have invited Krishna! would recount the Queen We should have remembered
how angry she could get, especially after poor Briar Rose! It
was all your father s fault. I told him to invite ALL the fairies
as godmothers, we didn t want anyone to feel left out. But somehow,
Krishna didn t get an invitation to the royal first birthday and
naturally that made her mad.
Princess Silvia meowed
and closed her eyes, she was lying on her royal pillow and the
Queen (her mother) was petting her. This was her favorite story
and her parents often retold it to her.
At least Krishna didn
t curse you too badly. said the King fondly, petting her ears
Poor Rosie, your great great grandmother, had to take a one hundred
year nap because of her. Fairies are such a bother sometimes,
especially for the first birthday of the Princess. Darling, why
don t we not invite any fairies to the first birthday of the next
child and save ourselves all the hassle? said the King turning
to the Queen.
That sounds like a nice
idea dear, said the Queen but what would people say? Royal children
are always blessed by fairies! Silvia meowed again and tugged
at the Queen s sleeve with her mouth Alright, I m sorry darling.
I ll continue the story,
When Krishna becomes
angry she often does irrational things. In fact, she was in such
a temper that she walked right over to you in your cradle and
zap, the next thing that we know, there s this cute little white
kitten where there used to be a baby! Then one of the servants
brought Krishna a milkshake, you know how fond fairies are of
sweet things and then she felt sorry that she had cursed you.
Fairies can be quite stupid sometimes, I mean honestly, if she
needed to have cursed anyone it could have been us.
So, said the King she
apologized but when we asked her to lift off the curse she said
no, that she hadn t been thinking when she had done it and had
accidentally performed an incredibly difficult curse. The only
way to break the spell, she said was to earn the love of a human
boy...
to be continued...
Momentary Thought
By Jimei, 14, NYC
is something wrong...
pinpricks across a crystal body, smoke filling the stairways and
halls.
swirling gray, slowly
creeping up blinding and choking.
this is life! a pen
dropped and hitting the floor, making no sound.
misty eye, tangled word.
half shut but wide open. mute screaming with a smile.
laughing at the clown,
when the mouth turns.
powdery white, covering
twisted limbs of steel and flesh. melting and trickling away...laughing
and dancing in the swirling white.
let s go outside...lets
go outside...
twirling, dancing, stumbling
over desks and chairs.
strong arms, safe now,
hold on...
don t worry
but the tears come and
the mouth turns. i m sorry.
lost and stumbling,
swirling gray. hands outstretched, reaching. distant voices and
the sound of wings.
burst of flame, the phoenix song, trailing
feathers in the white.
A
Short Story from the A.O.T.W: Music is the Key
inspired
by JIMMY by Katherine Wheatley
By
Emily, 14, Ontario Canada
It was all there, on the little piece
of plastic in her hand. She thought...she was suddenly unsure...what had she put on the tape? Her song...did it
say what she meant? And even if it did, he might take it the wrong way...or take it the right way, and just not
feel the same...she could barely remember how her song went now...what was it? Oh yeah...
I don't say what I'm thinking,
When I don't have the confidence,
I have got to be drinking,
To say the things that I mean the most...
Then what?
"It's alright." She told herself,
as she walked up his driveway, the snow crunching beneath her boots, and the stars glittering above like diamonds
strewn across a huge piece of bluey-black velvet. "Stop being stupid and insecure...You can do this."
She came to his door...all she had to
do was slip the tape in the slot intended for letters and he would find it there the next morning...and with any
luck, he would know who it was from immediately upon hearing the voice, and he would whisper
"I love you too." and it would
all go happily to the land of ever afters.
But what if it didn't?
What if the song was all wrong?
"This is ridiculous." she scolded
herself again. "You're nervous as hell about a stupid thing like this, and you can't even remember the words
to a song you wrote yourself and spent HOW many hours practicing 'til it was perfect?" She thought a minute
more, and then, remembering a bit more, sang quietly
"I don't say what I'm thinking
When I don't have the confidence,
I have got to be drinking
To say the things that
I mean the most
That's why I prefer singing
That's why I play my guitar
That's why I spend my
Sunday afternoons
Finding words to tell you
what I need from you..."
She couldn't remember the words for the
next bit...she hummed the tune until she came to the part she knew.
"Maybe we're lazy
Maybe we're shy
Maybe we fear each other
So we let the time go slipping by"
That was it.
She knew she meant that...it almost didn't
matter what the rest of the song said...those four lines meant everything she wanted to say. And if he didn't feel
the same way, at least she'd said it.
"James Thomas Moore, you're in for
it now." she laughed happily as she slipped the tape in the letter slot.
Ccualpiensas?
By Anonymous en la ciudad de
cuantos piensas
Un dia era una
ratonita
que se llamo Sarita. Era tan perfecta. Hizo todo su tarea, y sabia
todos los contestos a cada pregunta. Era una ratonita tan
inteligente. Pero los otros ratonitos eran muy antipaticos a Sarita.
Un dia un ratonito que se llamo Michahtito dijo una cosa tan estupido.
"Sarita no tiene amigos!" (Era una cosa tan estupido
decir.) Sarita lloro y corrio a su casa. Su mama, una otra ratonita,
dijo,"no debes preocuparse. Michahtito solo es un ratonito
estupido quien no sabe nada. Es feo y enojado porque no es tan
inteligente como ti. No te preocupes."
No tienes que mirar a su cara fea cuando estas en la escuela el
proximo ano. Cuando estas a Bronx Science, puedes mirar
a otras cosas. Es una escuela mas grande que Lab. Trata que vivir
con los antipaticos en tu clase para solo tres dias mas."
Este es que hizo Sarita. Era muy simpatica y me hizo biscochitos
para mi cumpleanos.
Colorin Colorado
El Cuento esta Terminado
The Hunt for the Unicorn
By Michael, 14, Syracuse
There is no wonder
That could match the sight
Through a magic mist
Beheld at twilight
In a forest glade
By the silver wood
A snow white Being
So silently stood
That he seemed a flash
Of birch by bright moon
Save for the magewind's
Soft mystical tune
And the spear of gold
Gleaming out his head
From base to sharp point
Wrapped in argent thread
Rampant to dexter
By hunter's far cries
With no trace of fear
In wise calm blue eyes
For none but the pure
May catch hold the horn
To gain the knowledge
Of the unicorn
My Opposite
By Shauna, 14, Larchmont
My opposite would be some short, fat
girl
that didn't like to talk or do anything
social. If she had any friends they probably would be nice to each other but never laugh.
The Psychiatrist and Vinegar
By Jillian, 11, Brooklyn
The taste of the salty chips on my tongue
reminded me of the psychiatrist's office. It smelled like chicken and if you stuck your tongue out, you could taste
chicken too.
As I sat down, listening to him talk, I
reached my hand out and picked up a salt and vinegar potato chip. That man freaked me out, the way he talked and
talked and talked and meanwhile, he answered his own questions. Sometimes he'd pick his nose, than travel to his
ears. One time, he put it in his mouth.
The Psychiatrist and the Chicken
By LizSar, 25, Brooksmyth
I need help. The chicken on my shoulder
says so. I believe everything he says. He is just as smart as Willard. Willard was my pet centipede. I loved Willard
.. but he was run over in a freak spoon accident. But I digress.
But now I'm in a room that smells like chicken.
And tastes like it too! It reminds me of my past chicken, Bob! I want my Bob. And the psychiatrist picks his nose
too! And eats it! Like Willard! Was I talking about Willard or Bob?
But I must move on, I love my chicken, George,
too. And he loves me ...
So, I was in the office and I thought I
smelled chicken. Now, this man was talking up a storm. And I thought he wouldn't notice if I talked to George.
The chicken on my shoulder, of course.
So I began to talk to George. He didn't
like the psychiatrist either. He said it smelled like vinegar in the room too.
I didn't smell it. All I could smell was
the psychiatrists deodorant. The man heard me, and he asked these tall, tall men in white to carry me away! I didn't
want to go away. So the psychiatrist died tragically in a fork accident.
So many of my aquaintces die with silverware
accidents. I beginning to wonder if it's conspiracy. Or maybe .. just maybe .. I'm the only one that sees the fork
with the devilish eyes!
[A Breath of Wind]
By Matthew, 15, Kingston
Two eyes, like stars
their crystalline depths filled with life.
The sunset spilled upon the hills
and the golden colors fade.
A struggling dove,
caught in a net,
a net of a game it is now forced to play.
A shimmer of brown hair,
the mane of a lioness,
who no-one can tame.
A salty kiss and you are torn away,
torn away by a breath of wind.
I reach for you,
but the sunset fades.
Now I am alone,
standing alone with a breath of wind.
[The story of Tipsy Kitten]
By Anonymous, 13, NYC
There
once was a kitten called Tipsy kitten. Tipsy and Patricia the
parrot were playing near the well when Patricia fell in. "Oh
no" cried Tipsy. "Patricia parrot has fallen into the
well". Tipsy ran down the road where she found her friend
Niclas, with his pet bowl, Chippy. "Patricia parrot has fallen
into the well" cried Tipsy. "Let's go find help"
said Niclas. Chippy remained silent. So Tipsy kitten, Niclas and
Chippy ran down the road to find help. They found Little Bo Peep.
"Patricia parrot has fallen into the well" cried Tipsy.
"Let's go find help" said Little Bo Peep, "Just
let me gather my sheep". So Tipsy kitten, Niclas, Chippy,
Little Bo Peep and her sheep ran down the road to find help. They
found Jimei, the unusually purple frog and her two sisters, Singha
the pink falcon and Lingji the green leopard. (no offense guys)
"Patricia parrot has fallen into the well" cried Tipsy.
"Lets go find help" said Jimei, the unusually purple
frog and her two sisters, Singha the pink falcon and Lingji the
green leopard. So, Tipsy kitten, Niclas, Chippy, Little Bo Peep,
her sheep, Jimei, the unusually purple frog, her two sisters,
Singha the pink falcon and Lingji the green leopard ran down the
road to find help. There they saw Ilana la rana, Josie y las Zorras
and el Viejo invierno con un otro nombre que es William. "Patricia
parrot has fallen into the well" cried Tipsy. "Lets
go find help" said Ilana la rana and Josie y las Zorras.
"What about you el Viejo invierno con un otro nombre que
es William?" said Tipsy. "I don't care, I'm not compassionate
enough" said el Viejo invierno con un otro nombre que es
William. So Tipsy kitten, Niclas, Chippy, Little Bo Peep, her
sheep, Jimei, the unusually purple frog, her two sisters, Singha
the pink falcon, Lingji the green leopard, Ilana la rana and Josie
y las Zorras ran down the road to find help. They met up with
Mickeydoitis
and
Shimika, who were discussing ways to get out of Ms. Ribaudos'
detention hall using methods of exponential decay or ways to take
over the world without breaking a large reflector mirror. "Patricia
parrot has fallen into the well" cried Tipsy. "Lets
go find help" said Mickeydoitis and Shimika. So, Tipsy kitten,
Niclas, Chippy, Little Bo Peep, her sheep, Jimei, the unusually
purple frog, her two sisters, Singha the pink falcon, Lingji the
green leopard, Ilana la rana, Josie y las Zorras, Mickeydoitis
and Shimika ran down the road to find help. They arrived at the
castle of All of the Kings' Horses and All of the Kings' Men.
"Patricia parrot has fallen into the well" cried Tipsy.
"Oh, no", said All of the Kings' Horses and All of the
Kings' Men. "Lets go save her" So, Tipsy kitten, Niclas,
Chippy, Little Bo Peep, her sheep, Jimei, the unusually purple
frog, her two sisters, Singha the pink falcon, Lingji the green
leopard, Ilana la rana, Josie y las Zorras, Mickeydoitis, Shimika
and All of the Kings' Horses and All of the Kings' Men ran back
up the road to the well to find that Patricia parrot was dead.
So, the moral of the story is, don't fall into a well if you have
a friend named Tipsy Kitten.
[ Untitled ]
By Emily, 13, NYC
It was snowing
when I saw him
head bowed to the swirling white
white so think he was but a glimpse
to me.
When I got home the snow
melted on my sleeve
like tears.
[ Descent into Obscurity ]
By Mickey, 14, NYC
A blurry dream and blurry vision,
Silky hair and routine movements,
Twinkling above the starlit shadows,
Scarlet curve and blemish free.
Stretching knot of shining elegance,
Fading, slowly, out of sight and...
Replaced.
With nothing but an empty feeling,
In the cold pits and roomy dungeons,
Ears alert and eyes aware.
The crowds that follow, tasting sorrow,
Varying lines of true emotions,
Sickening squelch against the splintered
wood,
Echoes, a split and turn in conversation.
A snap and crackle, sunset's sparkle,
Shattered soul and wrinkled bond,
Folded stripes of smiles and back,
It is floating, drifting towards the open
sea, never to return.
[ Fractured Tale ]
By Steve, 43, NYC
This is a story of
a girl. She had a pair of red shoes, which her mother bought for her and warned her not to wear them with the exception
of special occasions.
One day, the girl decided to
"diss" her mother. She said, "Momma don't know nothing about nothing, and she ain't the boss of
me."
So she wore them to school
one day to show off to her homies. One of her homies, a cool dude named Rufus Sarzynski, told her that those shoes
were the baddest limousines for the feet that he has ever seen. The girl didn't know what to make of it. But she
assumed it was a good thing.
The girl went from class to
class making sure that everyone knew that she was coming with her shoes. Rufus pointed out her shoes (in case anyone
didn't notice) by saying: "Dig those shoes, they is badddd!!!"
The girl, (whose name we don't
know) told Rufus to shove it... and leave her alone because she didn't need a PR man. When the girl left school,
it started to pour. Some would say it was raining cats and dogs, but we won't.
Her shoes got soaked and ruined
and her mother got really mad and beat her badly.
She said: "do you think
that shoes grow on trees?!?, Well they don't!"
[ The structure we found ]
By Sara, 13, NYC
It came from the East River
submerged and saturated as it was
looked like rusted, knarled, twisted
metal
The age, it was old
and burrowed in with holes, as if
by a small animal
found it below the river's floor that
would stop
right here but doesn't
cause the caverns, yeah
the caverns they sink deeper
The inside, it was covered in sediment
like the stuff that they wanna pump out of the Gowanus Canal.
The structure, it was tilted as
if by the
wind which dominated the
Southwest at one time,
but it was underwater, not in the
wind.
[ I Used To Be A Fairy]
By Jimei, 13, NYC
I used to be a fairy
but now I am a human.
I used to swirl in the depths
of the blue sky
but now I just walk in the
grayness of cement.
I used to soar and play melodies
with the stars,
but now I play my sad tunes on the
clarinet.
I used to ride the winds that
were like lions
but now I ride a bus, a slurping,
slimy, slow slug.
I used to be completely happy
but now I am completely sad.
[ Torn Satin ]
By Jimei, 13, NYC
The torn red satin,
lying strewn across the floor.
Scissors held in a trembling hand
as pearly rivers trickle along wet
cheeks.
The cloth is cut,
'twill never be mended.
The scar is there as it must be,
a jagged, bleeding wound.
So when honeyed words,
flow from red lips,
the Cinderella will remember.
As the clock strikes twelve,
she will see,
that love, is fragile
as her glass slipper.
The Cinderella will weep.
For, only with tears,
will she see what it is,
torn red satin...
[ Sweet Serenade ]
By Lena, 15, Albany
Twirling in the woods,
dancing feet
tapping,
to a faery flute.
Laughing in the forest,
silver bells
tinkling,
with the gurgling brook.
Running in the meadow,
flowing hair
swirling,
between the fingers of the wind.
Singing in a glade,
creamy voices
blending,
to a sweet serenade.
[ Wisdom at its Wisest ]
By Mickey, 14, NYC
The dust that settles in layers,
Is dormant in its rigidness,
The ledge of the plank and the graniness,
Follows through and through.
The melodious whispers are passing
by,
Streets and skies spring to life,
A song for the desperate, the weak
and the strong,
Rises,
Fades,
Heats the inside.
Ovals attached to flickering lines,
Dot the noted page,
There used to be harmony, space and
no more,
Now beholds the captivating medicine
for the soul,
The twines of twisted, threaded knots
are visible to
the eye,
The barrenness of floating secrets
are hidden,
Hidden, hiding,
Never to be found.
[ The Dragon ]
By Louise, 15, Nova Scotia
When the world has sunk into
a stupor and soft breezes waft through muslin curtains or rain drums on the rooftops, the dragon prowls.
As dusk falls and the world is blanketed with night's cloak, the dragon soars.
He flies over the world breathing
life into that below. His fiery heart warms the sleeping beings, his breath tainted with the visions of what might
have been. With every breath he makes life and brings light into the eyes of those who live without joy. For even
an unhappy man may dream.
With
every beat of his wings he guards over his treasure. The clouded blue marble is his but then he too belongs to
that small marble. As long as there are those who are willing to dream and who are willing to open their minds,
he will stay.
He must stay, for when dreams
die, he will die. When the last child stops playing and the last girl stops wishing his scales will fall to the
Earth like rain. His heart will be thrown into space and will become a star, warming the planets who seek its comfort.
Then, as the dragon breathes its last
breath its bones will crumble to dust. Cast into the vastness of space, they will wait for the one to awake them.
Then, when the children start believing and start dreaming the dragon will rise. For, as long as there are dreams the dragon
must guard this blue marble.
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