Dreamersworld

When I was young all people told me
Work hard for that your dreams come true
As I asked them how dreams belong to work
They said that everything has his price
Than I began to write without a dream
Just asked for the price paid for my words
Lived in a lost World without dreams
Only the ones you could buy
Stayed with me worth for nothing
And when I asked them what for
All this work and panic is
They had no time to answer
Always working night and day
And than I took my dreams
Sat down and looked how happy
They were with all their money
Working day and night and dreaming
Worse through even shorter nights
Always worrying that anything could
Be missed in former times or stolen
As I had nothing than old books I
Could have left my doors open all night
Nobody would steal such nonsense
But if someone would ask me
What I still dream of
When there is time
These are my books
And lot’s of time to read
Nothing more is needed nearly
Because at once this less is all
When shared with someone
Who loves the books like I do
To live in stories more than in
What others only call reality
And tell the world the story of
The books we loved
On in or between
jt 14.11.14