Dreams

They are known to only
One, who wants them,
Who thinks them.

They may never come true,
Yet they are what we strive for,
What we do to be free.

They are priceless,
Yet they may be too expensive,
Too impossible to get.

They are like a butterfly,
Flying from one to another,
But never landing.

They are colorful and dark,
Beautiful, and ugly,
Impossible but possible.

They are what we want,
What we look for
And what we need.

Dreams, what a child wants,
And adults lose,
And old people regret.