From the point of knowing,
Understanding who and what we are,
Veiled in mysticism,
Dusted with flakes of realism and fear,
Sparsely mixed with faith.
Even dreamers are scared,
Others swallow the bitter pill of cynicism,
We are fragile vessels filled with dreams,
Life ticks by
Till my granddaughter is clasped
Tenderly to my bosom,
A dream wrought,
Though not sought or foretold.