Prompt: A flicker of hope, a tiny flame,
In the midst of darkness, it proclaims.
A glimmer of light, amidst the night,
A beacon of possibility, shining bright.
It starts as a spark, small and frail,
A whisper of faith, when all seems pale.
A ray of sunshine, breaking through the clouds,
A promise of better days, that hope allows.
It grows within, a gentle fire,
A flicker of hope, to never tire.
It fuels our hearts, with renewed strength,
A guiding star, that goes to great length.
It lifts us up, when we are down,
A lifeline of hope, when we feel to frown.
It whispers to us, in moments of doubt,
A reminder that hope, will never run out.
A flicker of hope, a beacon of light,
That keeps us going, in darkest night.
It shines within, a guiding star,
A source of courage, no matter how far.
So let us cherish, this flicker of hope,
A flame that burns, when we can't cope.
It gives us strength, to carry on,
A flicker of hope, that's never gone.
Prompt: The old funeral hearse, solemn and grand,
A somber carriage, for the final stand.
A vehicle of reverence, draped in black,
Carrying loved ones, on their final track.
With curtains drawn, and a mournful air,
The old hearse, a symbol of grief to bear.
Its stately form, a somber sight,
A vessel for the departed, on their final flight.
Its wheels roll slowly, with solemn grace,
As it makes its way, to the final resting place.
A hushed procession, in respectful pace,
As mourners follow, in sorrow's embrace.
The hearse, a somber symbol, of life's end,
A reminder of mortality, around the bend.
A dignified conveyance, for the deceased,
A vessel of honor, that carries the deceased.
Inside, a space of reverence and care,
Where the departed rests, in solemn prayer.
A final journey, to bid farewell,
The old funeral hearse, a mournful bell.
Though sorrow may weigh heavy and deep,
The old hearse, a symbol of dignity to keep.
A tribute to life, and memories held,
A final journey, in a hearse of old.
So let us honor, with solemn respect,
The old funeral hearse, a somber aspect.
A vehicle of reverence, for the departed's rest,
A symbol of farewell, at life's bequest.
Prompt: The sounds of children, pure and sweet,
A symphony of laughter, rhythmical and fleet.
Their giggles, like melodies, fill the air,
Their voices, like chimes, so bright and rare.
Their footsteps, pattering in playful glee,
Their voices rising in a joyful spree.
Their chatter, a babble of innocence,
Their songs, a chorus of exuberance.
Their laughter, contagious and pure,
A sound that's timeless, and will endure.
Their shouts of joy, their cries of fun,
A symphony of youth, under the sun.
Their games, a dance of boundless play,
Their imaginations, on full display.
Their shrieks of delight, their calls to friends,
A symphony of childhood, that never ends.
The sounds of children, a precious treasure,
Bringing joy and wonder, without measure.
Their voices, a reminder of life's simple bliss,
A symphony of innocence, that we should never miss.
So let us cherish, the sounds of children's glee,
Their laughter, their joy, so wild and free.
For in their voices, we hear hope's sweet song,
A symphony of life, forever strong.
Prompt: Rays of sunshine, bright and warm,
Glimpses of joy, in life's grand storm.
They pierce through clouds, with golden light,
Chasing away darkness, with all their might.
They kiss the earth, with a gentle touch,
Bringing life to flowers, oh, so much.
They paint the sky, with hues of gold,
A breathtaking sight, to behold.
Rays of sunshine, a gift from above,
Filling hearts with hope and love.
They bring smiles to faces, lift spirits high,
Dispelling shadows, from the sky.
In moments of darkness, they bring light,
Guiding us forward, through the night.
They warm our hearts, with their gentle rays,
Reminding us, of brighter days.
Rays of sunshine, a precious treasure,
Bringing warmth and joy, without measure.
They remind us, in life's uncertain course,
That there is always light, a guiding force.
So let us cherish, these rays so bright,
Embrace their warmth, with all our might.
For in the midst of life's trials and tests,
Rays of sunshine, bring hope and zest.
Prompt: Doc Holliday, a name known far and wide,
A gunslinger and gambler, with a swaggering stride.
Born in Georgia, raised in the South,
A man of quick wit, and a skilled gun's mouth.
John Henry Holliday, a dentist by trade,
But the wild frontier was where he played.
With a thin frame and a deadly gaze,
He earned a reputation in those lawless days.
In the town of Tombstone, in Arizona's land,
Doc found himself, with a gun in hand.
He joined the Earp brothers in a feud so grand,
The infamous gunfight at the O.K. Corral, firsthand.
A loyal friend to Wyatt Earp, his comrade in arms,
Doc fought alongside him, facing life's harms.
But his health was failing, tuberculosis took its toll,
A constant battle, taking its toll.
Doc Holliday, a man of contradictions,
A gambler, a fighter, full of convictions.
A legend of the Wild West, a flawed anti-hero,
With a legacy that lingers, even as time's arrow.
His life was short, but his name lives on,
In tales of gunfights and deeds long gone.
A complex figure, a man of his time,
Doc Holliday, forever remembered in Western rhyme.
Prompt: The sun sets low, the day is done,
On the golf course, the 18th hole, the final run.
A golfer stands, club in hand,
Eyes on the green, a challenging demand.
A fairway stretched, so lush and green,
A flag waving, a distant scene.
A water hazard, a bunker wide,
The golfer takes a deep breath, ready to stride.
The swing begins, with precision and might,
The ball takes flight, a beautiful sight.
It soars through the air, with grace and poise,
Aiming for the green, the golfer's choice.
The ball lands softly, with a gentle hop,
Rolling towards the pin, a promising stop.
The golfer watches with bated breath,
As it rolls closer, closer to the death.
The ball slows down, teasingly near,
The golfer's heart races, filled with fear.
A final putt, a steady hand,
Guiding the ball, as it obeys command.
The ball drops in, with a satisfying sound,
The golfer grins, victory is found.
The 18th hole, a challenge met,
A moment to treasure, one to never forget.
Cheers and claps, from friends around,
A celebration of success profound.
The golf course fades into the night,
The 18th hole, a memorable sight.
Prompt: A coastal treat, a savory delight,
Shrimp broil, a dish that's sure to excite.
Fresh shrimp, plump and succulent,
Marinated with flavors so decadent.
Lemon juice, garlic, and spices galore,
Coating the shrimp, adding flavor more.
A hint of paprika, a dash of cayenne,
A marinade that's sure to entertain.
Onto the grill, or under the broiler's heat,
The shrimp sizzle, releasing scents so sweet.
Cooked to perfection, a vibrant pink hue,
Juices bubbling, with flavors coming through.
The aroma fills the air, a tantalizing smell,
As hungry appetites begin to swell.
A quick flip, a basting with melted butter,
Enhancing the flavor, making it utter.
The shrimp plump up, cooked just right,
Tender and juicy, a pure seafood delight.
Served with crusty bread, a squeeze of lemon,
Shrimp broil, a dish that's truly heaven.
Gather around, with loved ones and friends,
Savoring each bite, as the meal extends.
A celebration of the sea, a coastal treasure,
Shrimp broil, a culinary pleasure.
Prompt: Playful, lively, full of zest,
Baby goats, the cutest and the best.
With coats of fur in shades of white or brown,
They prance and frolic, never a frown.
Tiny hooves, a pitter-patter sound,
As they bound and leap, all around.
Their eyes, so bright with curiosity,
Exploring the world with boundless glee.
They climb and jump on anything they find,
Logs, rocks, or even their mother's behind.
Their playful antics, a joy to behold,
As they chase each other, bold and bold.
Their bleats, like music, a cheerful tune,
As they explore the meadow, morn till noon.
Their innocence and pure hearts so pure,
Bringing smiles and warmth that will endure.
Oh, baby goats, with your playful ways,
You fill our hearts with joy and praise.
A reminder of nature's wonders, pure and free,
Baby goats, the epitome of youthful glee.
Prompt: A vision of elegance, a sight to behold,
A beautiful Victorian woman, with grace untold.
Her gown, a masterpiece of lace and silk,
Her smile, like a jewel, radiant as milk.
Her hair, a cascade of curls and waves,
Her poise, refined in the manner she behaves.
Her eyes, like sapphires, deep and bright,
Her laughter, a melody, a pure delight.
Her complexion, porcelain, flawless and fair,
Her presence, captivating, beyond compare.
Her manners, refined, with poise and grace,
Her beauty, timeless, in every time and place.
A lady of virtue, strength, and charm,
Her elegance, a beacon, her demeanor warm.
A beautiful Victorian woman, a true work of art,
Her beauty captured in every beating heart.
Prompt: Sitting on a rock in the river, so serene,
A moment of solitude, a peaceful scene.
Water flowing gently, a soothing sound,
Nature's symphony, all around.
The river's current, cool and clear,
Caressing the rocks, with a gentle cheer.
Sunlight sparkling, on the water's surface,
A moment of tranquility, a moment of grace.
Sitting on a rock, feeling nature's embrace,
Feeling connected, in this peaceful place.
Birds chirping softly, trees swaying in the breeze,
Nature's wonders, a sight to please.
The water's rhythm, a calming lullaby,
As you watch the world go by.
Time stands still, in this moment pure,
A sense of contentment, so sure.
Lost in thoughts, lost in reverie,
As you sit on the rock, in perfect harmony.
Contemplating life, in nature's embrace,
Feeling at peace, in this special place.
The river flows, its journey goes on,
As you sit on the rock, feeling at dawn.
A moment to cherish, a moment to treasure,
Sitting on a rock in the river, a memory to measure.
Prompt: A classic cocktail, bold and strong,
A favorite among the cocktail throng.
With simple ingredients, a timeless mix,
The Screwdriver drink, a satisfying fix.
Start with vodka, clear and pure,
A generous pour, to be sure.
Add orange juice, freshly squeezed,
For a burst of citrus, to please.
Stir it up, with ice so cold,
Watch the colors blend, bold and bold.
Garnish with an orange slice,
A finishing touch that's oh so nice.
The Screwdriver drink, a taste so bright,
A perfect balance of sweet and light.
Sipped on lazy afternoons or wild nights,
A classic cocktail, with timeless delights.
Its origins unclear, but its fame well-known,
A cocktail legend, all on its own.
Simple yet delicious, a favorite of many,
The Screwdriver drink, enjoyed by plenty.
So raise a glass, and toast to the past,
To the Screwdriver, a classic that will always last.
A drink to savor, with memories to make,
A timeless cocktail, for old and young to partake.
Prompt: Grandma's old rolling pin, worn and smooth,
A treasure of memories, a symbol of truth.
In her kitchen, it stood tall and proud,
Creating wonders, making hearts feel wowed.
With gentle hands, she'd roll the dough,
Kneading and shaping, just right, you know.
Her skilled fingers worked with grace,
Adding love to every dish she'd embrace.
Pies, cookies, and biscuits divine,
Baked with warmth, a taste so fine.
Grandma's rolling pin, a kitchen heirloom,
Holding secrets, from her to us, they loom.
Through the generations, it has passed,
A legacy of love that will forever last.
A simple tool, but full of stories and lore,
Grandma's old rolling pin, a treasure to adore.
Prompt: Deep in the Nevada desert, a mystery unfolds,
A place shrouded in secrets, untold,
Area 51, a clandestine domain,
Where the curious minds are left in strain.
Alien theories, conspiracy abound,
Whispers of extraterrestrials, unexplained sound,
Unseen experiments, unknown technology,
Conspiracy theorists in a constant frenzy.
Top-secret tests, classified research,
Hidden away from public's eager search,
High-security fences, guards on patrol,
What lies within, an enigma to unroll.
Speculations and stories, truth or tale?
What mysteries lie beyond the veil?
UFO sightings, unexplained events,
A place where curiosity represents.
But locked in secrecy, it remains,
What goes on behind the guarded chains,
Area 51, a puzzle unsolved,
A realm of wonder, yet unresolved.
So, the intrigue persists, the questions remain,
What truths hide behind the clandestine domain?
Area 51, a riddle in the night,
Shrouded in secrecy, a puzzle of light.
Prompt: Beneath the moon's soft, silvery glow,
In a teepee made of hides and furs that show,
A dream catcher swings, suspended in air,
With feathers and beads, it's crafted with care.
Its web, intricate and delicate spun,
Catches dreams as they drift, one by one,
Filtering out the nightmares and fears,
Holding on to the dreams that bring cheer.
A guardian of slumber, it hangs above,
Instilling peace, hope, and a sense of love,
Capturing visions, both big and small,
As they dance in the wind, they enthrall.
The Dream Catcher, a symbol of belief,
In dreams that inspire and bring relief,
Guiding us through the night's mystic spell,
Embracing the magic, it weaves so well.
So, as you sleep, dear one, don't you fear,
For The Dream Catcher is always near,
Ensuring your dreams are cherished and kept,
As you rest in its embrace, safely swept.
Prompt: I stepped on the treadmill, with a sigh,
Ready for a workout, to get me high,
But as I started running, I felt the blues,
A mundane routine, with no exciting cues.
The belt kept moving, beneath my feet,
The monotony, hard to defeat,
Stuck in one place, going nowhere fast,
The treadmill blues, a feeling that would last.
The digital display, counting the miles,
But my mind wandered, seeking smiles,
The same old scenery, never changing,
The treadmill blues, were truly challenging.
I tried to vary the speed and incline,
To break the monotony, to redefine,
But still, the treadmill hummed its tune,
The treadmill blues, a dreary dune.
I longed for fresh air, and open space,
To run outdoors, in a natural place,
With changing scenery, and freedom's breeze,
To cure the treadmill blues, with nature's keys.
But for now, I'll keep on running, and push through,
With music playing, to lift my mood,
Hoping for the day, when I'll break free,
From the treadmill blues, and run wild and free.
Prompt: Oh, the White Castle sliders, small and square,
A legendary snack, beyond compare,
With grilled onions and melted cheese,
A taste sensation, sure to please.
A tiny package, bursting with flavor,
A bite-sized treat, you can savor,
A steam-grilled patty, so tender and juicy,
Topped with onions, caramelized and oozy.
Soft, fluffy buns, perfectly toasted,
A satisfying snack, that's been boasted,
As the original slider, a culinary treasure,
A taste sensation, without any measure.
Late-night cravings, or a road trip snack,
White Castle sliders, always have your back,
A nostalgic treat, with a cult-like following,
A legendary taste, that keeps us longing.
So, bite into a slider, small and neat,
And savor the flavor, a true taste treat,
White Castle sliders, a classic delight,
A culinary legend, day or night.
Prompt: In a meadow ablaze with golden light,
Where the sun's warm rays dance in delight,
Blooms a carpet of flowers, bright and fair,
Like a golden tapestry, beyond compare.
The buttercups, with petals so yellow,
Glowing like sunshine, bright and mellow,
Their cups turned upwards, to the sky,
As if to catch the sun, as it passes by.
Their fragrance sweet, a summery scent,
Inviting bees and butterflies, intent,
To sip their nectar, with buzzing glee,
In a symphony of nature's harmony.
The meadow sways, with a gentle breeze,
As the buttercups sway, with graceful ease,
Their golden petals, a joyful hue,
A treasure of nature, so simple and true.
Children frolic, in the meadow's embrace,
Picking bouquets, with smiles on their face,
A gift from nature, so pure and bright,
The buttercups, a source of pure delight.
So, pause a moment, in the meadow's charm,
Amidst the buttercups, in nature's arm,
And let their beauty, your heart lift up,
In a golden moment, with the buttercups.
Prompt: A floppy-eared pup, with eyes so bright,
A wagging tail, a coat so light,
A bundle of joy, with boundless grace,
A beagle puppy, exploring the place.
With a curious nose, and a playful heart,
A love for adventure, right from the start,
He scampers around, with a wag and a woof,
Discovering the world, with boundless goof.
In the garden, he sniffs and digs,
Chasing butterflies, and rolling in twigs,
With a joyful bounce, and a wagging tail,
His puppy antics, never fail.
He's a loyal friend, with a heart so pure,
Bringing laughter, that's for sure,
A source of endless love and cheer,
A beagle puppy, oh so dear.
He steals your socks, and chews on shoes,
But with those puppy eyes, you can't refuse,
His playful antics, a daily delight,
As he grows and learns, day and night.
A companion for life, a furry treasure,
Bringing joy beyond measure,
A beagle puppy, a bundle of love,
Sent from above, by the stars above.
Prompt: In a hidden nook, on a cobblestone street,
Stands a tiny shop, oh, so sweet,
With a sign that glows, a brilliant hue,
"The Turquoise Lantern," a magical view.
Its windows adorned, with treasures untold,
Glowing turquoise, like stories of old,
A beacon of light, in the dark of night,
Guiding wanderers, with its mystical sight.
Step inside, and you'll be amazed,
By the wonders within, that leave you dazed,
Handcrafted trinkets, with intricate design,
Each one unique, like a jewel that shines.
The scent of incense, fills the air,
As lanterns flicker, with a gentle flare,
Casting shadows, with an enchanting spell,
Drawing you closer, under its mystic spell.
The shopkeeper, with eyes so bright,
Shares stories of magic, with sheer delight,
Of distant lands, and far-off realms,
Where dreams come true, and hope overwhelms.
The Turquoise Lantern, a haven of charm,
Where magic and wonder, are kept from harm,
A sanctuary, for seekers of delight,
Where imagination soars, and takes flight.
Prompt: At the lobster port, by the ocean's edge,
Where salty waves crash, and seagulls wedge,
Lies a bustling scene, with boats so bold,
As lobstermen work, weathered and bold.
Their traps are set, baited with care,
Waiting patiently, for lobster fare,
With rugged hands, they haul the pots,
Filled with treasures, from the watery lots.
In the lobster port, the catch is prized,
A symbol of hard work, highly prized,
With shells of red, and claws so strong,
A delicacy, that can't go wrong.
The lobstermen, with weathered faces,
Tell stories of the sea, in far-off places,
Of storms and struggles, battles fought,
To harvest lobsters, they've diligently sought.
The smell of seaweed, the salt-filled air,
The creak of ropes, the boats' repair,
In the lobster port, a way of life,
Where grit and courage, meet the knife.
So, raise a toast, to the lobstermen's trade,
In the lobster port, where dreams are made,
For it's a world of hard work, and salty spray,
A livelihood cherished, day by day.
Prompt: Amidst the raging winds and pouring rain,
Lies a center of calm, a peaceful domain.
In the heart of the tempest, a tranquil sight,
The eye of the storm, a serene respite.
Around it swirls chaos, a swirling force,
But at its center, a calm, steady course.
A circle of stillness, amidst the fray,
A moment of quiet, in nature's display.
The eye of the storm, a paradox true,
A calm oasis, in a tempest so blue.
A fleeting moment, of stillness rare,
A pause in the chaos, a tranquil affair.
In life's storms, we face challenges bold,
With turmoil and chaos, that can't be controlled.
But within us lies, an eye of the storm,
A place of calm, that keeps us warm.
A resolute center, that remains unmoved,
A source of strength, to keep us proved.
A beacon of peace, in troubled times,
A refuge within, where solace climbs.
So when life's storms rage, with all their might,
Remember the eye, a guiding light.
Find that center, within your soul,
And weather the tempests, to reach your goal.
For amidst the chaos, there's peace to be found,
In the eye of the storm, a tranquil ground.
A source of calm, a steady hand,
To navigate life's challenges, and understand.
Prompt: With sails unfurled, and crew so bold,
Sets sail a ship, weathered and old.
In pursuit of giants, of the sea,
The whaler embarks, on a daring decree.
Through waves and storms, the ship does sail,
In search of creatures, a mighty tale.
With harpoons ready, and eyes keen,
The whaler hunts, the ocean's queen.
A majestic sight, the whale appears,
A behemoth of the sea, that inspires fears.
The whaler strikes, with skillful aim,
A harpoon flies, with a thunderous claim.
The battle ensues, a fierce contest,
The whale fights back, with all its best.
With strength and grace, it breaches high,
A majestic dance, beneath the sky.
The whaler's crew, with hearts afire,
They pull the ropes, with sweat and tire.
A test of strength, a dangerous game,
As they capture the whale, and stake their claim.
But in the eyes, of the whaler's crew,
There's more than just a prize to pursue.
It's a way of life, a legacy,
A bond with nature, a heartfelt decree.
For the whaler knows, the ocean's might,
And the beauty of the creatures, in its sight.
A respect for nature, a reverence deep,
As they sail the seas, and harvest the keep.
Prompt: With shovel in hand, he begins his toil,
In the earth's embrace, he breaks the soil.
A man of strength, with muscles tough,
The ditch digger's work, rugged and rough.
With sweat on his brow, he digs each day,
A laborer's rhythm, in sun's bright ray.
He clears the way, with dirt and stone,
Creating paths, where none were known.
His back may ache, his hands may bleed,
But he soldiers on, with unwavering speed.
He digs deep down, with grit and might,
A sense of purpose, his guiding light.
Through mud and clay, he forges ahead,
With unwavering focus, he's never misled.
He digs the trench, with precision keen,
A craftsman's touch, on a work unseen.
His work, a foundation, for pipes and wires,
A crucial task, that never tires.
He builds the groundwork, for others' gain,
A job of importance, through sun and rain.
Though his work may go unnoticed by some,
The ditch digger knows, he's not just "some".
His contribution, to infrastructure's plan,
A role of significance, in the greater span.
So here's to the ditch digger, strong and true,
A laborer's pride, in all that you do.
For your sweat and toil, a job well done,
The backbone of progress, under the sun.
Prompt: At the end of the train, with a cheerful hue,
There's a special car, called the caboose, it's true.
A rolling office, a cozy space,
A symbol of railroads, a familiar place.
With windows all around, a panoramic view,
The caboose offers a vantage point, through and through.
A lookout perch, for the train's rear guard,
A watchful eye, always on guard.
Inside, a haven, for the crew to stay,
With beds and tables, for work and play.
A refuge from the elements, a shelter on wheels,
A home away from home, with comfort feels.
With a stove to keep warm, and a lantern's light,
The caboose provides warmth, throughout the night.
A place for meals, and stories shared,
A camaraderie, that can't be compared.
The caboose, a symbol, of railway lore,
A piece of history, treasured evermore.
A reminder of the past, a link to the past,
A nostalgic sight, that will forever last.
Though modern trains now run, without a caboose,
The memories remain, of this unique use.
A cherished icon, in the railroad's tale,
The caboose, a legend, that will never fail.
Dream Level: is increased each time when you "Go Deeper" into the dream. Each new level is harder to achieve and
takes more iterations than the one before.
Rare Deep Dream: is any dream which went deeper than level 6.
Deep Dream
You cannot go deeper into someone else's dream. You must create your own.
Deep Dream
Currently going deeper is available only for Deep Dreams.
