The House of the Childhood Dreams

There’s a house on a bridge at the end of a moment,

And a room on the edge of a dream.

There’s a window that looks out onto morning and night,

And the eternity that rests in between.

In through the window the sun always shines,

And the room never ever grows cold.

The curtains are papery thin and they’re stained

With all the stories that have not yet been told.

The door to the room hasn’t been opened in a while,

And the windows are coated in dust.

The windows look both welcoming and sweet,

But the hinges are frozen with rust.

For this is the House of the Childhood Dreams

That we are told to grow up and forget.

This is the house of how to be young,

How to dream wildly and without regret.

It’s the easiest house in the world to find

Providing you never forget the way.

Sadly, as we’re taught to think, not imagine,

The route’s often lost at the end of the day.

So I want to go on an adventure,

On a quest to find my dreams.

To find the room I’ve forgotten I’ve lost

And clean the dust off all its beams.

That’s why I’m telling you about it,

That’s why I’m writing you this note.

That’s why I’m holding out my hand,

And imploring you read what I wrote.

For I know that we can find the way,

And discover the world is more than it seems.

So will you take my hand and come with me

On an adventure to find our dreams?



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