To be a dreamer can be a sad life.
The people that try to hold you down in knotted strings of strife.
Build a bridge of stone over troubled water, and call it fear.
Design ideas bone by bone -- I place a skeleton beneath us here.
The sky saddles inward like space-time.
We shall dream and talk of the future, and listen to the distant, church bells that chime.
AND we shall talk to one another of things no one else may care, as we are watched by the stars above with their stellar stare.
They are fixed and vacant wrapped in the blanket of the night.
We ask for guidance and reason -- very powerful insight.
AND there stands a watcher, appearing from globules. A kind of twirly mist -- beautiful angel of such a gothic winter.
She SAYS unto us: You cannot exit, only enter.
We cannot run, only abide.
She circles us like a finite flame within a dream, and takes you away from me.
With her, you shall fly...
Now I'm so lost, dry and hollow inside.
... A torn rose --
A piece of cloth --
The watcher of the land --
A ribbon of virtue upon the sand.
I stand and look at nothing.
Only the ground and water, as it starts blushing.
Is there a place I can call home?
A place where I can rest upon the stone?
Where shall I dream in solitude?
Will I swim, or will I fly.
Somewhere within, is where the water meets the sky.
The moon is fading and is crescent.
I'm lost, but that's fine by me --
A stranded essence.
Life....
Life, she has left me behind.
This poem may not be used, or any parts without my permission.
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