If ever under an old gray tree
When hesitation and anger scold free 
Remember the soft glow of the old jagged moon

In this life
Hesitation, anger, worry
In this life
Fear, confusion, war
In this life
These regrets run wild
Destroying everything
In this life
There are things called dreams
In this life
Children laugh, happiness flows,
A helping hand
In this life
Things are too short
Let dreams run wild

I am from the Ink in my Pen
I am from the books lying on the floor,
The carpet some people sit on,
And the dirt scattered on the ground.
I am from the giant tree that loses its leaves,
The garden of growing vegetables les,
And the small ants that run around.
I am from the books that hold everything and anything I want.
Under a book case and behind pillows are secrets to be stashed.
I am from my mother, father, grandparents, and other relatives from Jasmine to Nick.
My family are like soldiers, protecting me.
Everywhere there lays food,
But not everyone can have it.
From the sauce of the spaghetti,
To the taste of the sea food or rice and chicken,
There lie the mouths of hungry people.
I am from the sayings, "In a pickle",
To when people tell me, "You're a pain".
Underneath it all,
There lies a smile on their face of the happiness and laughter we share.
I am from the oceans waves that crash onto the sand,
To the seashells that roll and spin as they are taken into the deep endless sea,
From the small little crabs, the fierce roller coasters.
Created from the memories of long ago.
My cousins climbing tree to swinging on the swing set.
From playing tag to chasing the dog.
The games we play now are no match for the memories we share of long ago.
The sound of the roller coaster is where I am from.
The sound of the people laughing and enjoying themselves.