Reflections of a Dreamer

Looking back, as I often do, I remember how much of a dreamer I was. I would sit in class and just stare up out of the window.

My teachers, God bless them, didn’t know what to do with me. Dreaming was my hobby, ailment and cure (which prolly explains why I came to love sleep that much ). The love of reading which my parents bred into me didn’t help much either, it just gave me a million worlds to run away to when my mind wandered (like I hear they often do In Bolton)

It’s been an interesting journey so far, dreaming has made me a better designer and my experiences have given me focus. I see big things in the future for our startup, 4th Repvblik and a lot of those can only happen with dreams which we work towards transforming into reality.

I am creativity
I am design
I am the man who doesn’t see
Boundaries in lines
I am the future
Cos inside my mind
I see the beauty
In seeking the fine


Carry You Home

A song thats been playing in my mind the whole day, lol. didn’t even know I could do country music:

Dazzle me like the sun
In my memories you run
And the way that you call me
Without words
I will feed on your smiles
In a world that is so brown
I would be the King of the world
So all I ask
Is one task
If I would build a house
Would you come in and make it a home

O Lord I’ll carry you home
I love you deep in my bones
So would you settle my soul
I’ll Give all the joy you should know

Strawberry Blue

Random poetry for a conflicting morning. Enjoy!

You hasten my doom
Like a strawberry blue
With its hues deepened by the sun
And before I’ve begun
You’ve packed up and run
Like tomorrow escapes yesterday

Like kittens at play
You freshen my decay
As I hastily pick up the chase
Through time and in space
A chance just to see
A second, a glimpse of your gaze

Poetic Soul

Being a poet and/or a writer is not necessarily an occupation. I believe it’s more of an innate part of your nature, bred and not born. There are people who are poets inside and some outside, and the only ones who’ll get you are probably going to be fellow creatives; after all, they’re all poets in their own way.

Where am I going with this? Nowhere in particular. Just thinking out loud. Speaking of which, a couple of old lines I once put down, remind me of how much art has helped me get through. it’s the idealism which keeps me same and the valve within my brain.
Here’s the poem, and no, there was no girl involved….just random emotions

Did you know
the words that you said
Kept me up
All night in my bed
They fought
A war in my head
And now
All my brain cells are dead

So now
Get over yourself
Look at me now
Pull me down from your shelf
Cos I’m
In love with you now
Don’t close your eyes
I’ll still be around