Underneath a pitch-black moon and onyx stars,
Beneath the colors of the sky,
There lay a land that was seen through bars,
In dreams where no one cries.
The hills would roll with lush green grass,
The valleys filled with rushing streams.
The wind would chime, the music pass,
The clouds dusting the Sun's beams.
But stood the tallest was a tree,
Crooked branches that twigged and twanged,
The home of life and honey bees,
That always grew and always sang.
To see this land, to live to feel
Its rhyme and rhythm beating fast,
I'd love it enough to make it real.
It's my future. So long, my past.
Created: Dec 02, 2010SmudgeofPaint Document Media