Dawning days of dreaming lost in the sleep of time, this dance we call living tempt us to forgetting. Open eyes of mine to see the windows edge, tap the winters glass. Frost has not dimmed the view, just the sleeping eyes of time. Slumber is a sweet mistress to the life not lived, open arms embracing, empty moments not spent. Shaking off the dusty frosting that falls on motionless limbs, there is no need for movement in a captors snare. Wake oh just wake my eyes, see the missing mist, it fills to make complete the life lost sleeping, and paint the path not dreaming.
Dean N Nixon
Seminar Director, Life Coach
TurningLeaf Wellness Center