Dream No. 1

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.”

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