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"Maybe I am just a dreamer, but I am not the only one." - John Lennon
"It is not true that people
stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because
they stop pursuing dreams!"
(Adapted by A. Molina from a letter attributed to Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
I'm hungry, but you can't hear my shouts.
I'm lonely, cold and frightened
I feel there is no one to care
I watch you walk past,
You do not see me sitting here.
As a tear rolls down my cheek,
I think of life as passing me by,
Week after week.
There seems no escape,
No hide away place,
I'm raped off all my dignity and grace.
So I am forced to begging off people who walk on by,
They seem not to care,
That I'm skin, bones and fearful to die
Then someone across the street catches my eye.
She's dressed in a skimpy blouse
And tight, short skirt
As the fellows walk past,
She's starting to flirt.
I watch her with pride
As she tries to hide,
The pain of poverty,
That has cut her with a knife.
She's a woman like me,
Raped of dignity,
Having no where to go,
She's had to make her money.
Perhaps she has a family,
Even some kids,
It seems there are others doing the same,
Then I wonder if this is for me,
Playing this game.
As there seems no escape,
No hide away place,
It seems like I'll be looked at as just another face.
I'm frightened and alone,
I have no where to call my home.
Am I just another somebody?
I start to scramble,
And get to my feet,
I get talking to a fellow named Pete.
He tells me he's whats called a pimp,
He smells of tobacco and walks with a limp.
He promises me riches of all kind,
I feel I can't refuse.
Then he tells me how easy it is,
It's a game that I just cannot lose.
Somehow, somewhere this seems my only hope,
To give men what they want, a quick feel, a little grope.
Never do I stop to think of what it means to me,
It's either this or a world of poverty.
One by one we stand on the street corner,
Begging and flirting with the men that we meet,
This is what lifes like living on the street.
It isn't fun, it isn't good,
It's not how I imagined.
It hurts, it humiliates,
I've lost all my pride,
Now I know,
I have nowhere to hide.
We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams ;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams ;
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the whole world for ever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire glory ;
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown ;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth ;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth ;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
And one that is coming to birth.
A.W.E. O'Shaughnessy (1844-1881)
THE WONDERFUL DREAM OF MARSHA GOREN
Hand in hand across the lands,
Helping others by clicking together,
It only takes one click a day,
Show them you care and it will pay.
Together the children and their families
will march to a better world.
Let the message be heard,
It only takes one click for us to save
the children's future.
So come to dream a dream every day,
once a day with your teacher!