I can be a nice blue sky,
Waking from a dream in twilight.
The park is quiet, sullen like an old war story
And I’m part of many- lovers, tacticians, fighters, musicians
They’re all coming to the crown in the green grass, this floating tablet
The shakes the earth upon its flight.
My robes are threadbare, but I am garbed in seven gorgeous notes.
The wind scatters myself from the swaying grasses,
All the way up the earthen spiral to our crown.
How did I grow to love you so?
I suppose it’ll only answered in the logic of a dream.
But those seven notes speak it louder than my subconscious ever could.
It’s an unconscious spell,
A lovely incantation on the eighth hour.
“I can be a nice, blue sky.”