In My Father's House Poem by Joe Fraccalvieri

The world has beheld legends before;
but no more than the dreamers
who have created their world from the world they were born.
To stop and think would take too much time for most men
then again, they possess all the time they need
to feed them who live starvation's nightmare,
or to breathe breath into those that dream to live.

And the legends remain-- sometimes no longer legends! :
the legend of gravity, and of stars and light--
and the legends of the dark
whose tired eyes miss a million years with each blink,
you'd think that night had told the day to stay away;
but even the stars give way when morning comes--
and would you say what skies were filled by all those lies
with eyes that remain open always yet closed to the truth?
Then you are a legend!
And with every dream you take, you'll make another new
until one day you'll wake, to a dream that will be you.

And the legends live on--
sometimes no longer struggling to become real--
to become a pinpoint of light in night's sky--
to become the home of the child that asks 'why? '
to become words to a poem, or to roam in goodbyes.

And so the legends remain--
sometimes becoming our lives-- our dreams--
sometimes sleeping in bed with us.
Long lives the man who wields an unyielding legend--
sometimes giving way to men's desires
whose needs are like the tool that carves water,
the legends pour into moulds made of glass,
yet they only fill the space between atoms

But legends have always been around us.
Even the legend of life has become a reality for some--
but no more than for the Creator,
who lives in a world all His own
and plans the schemer's scheme,
and in whose bed He sleeps alone
and dreams the Dreamer's Dream.