The Circular City

A poem I wrote a long time ago.



Dreams

Each person thinks, each morning ones dies

The mystic imagine lain beneath your eyes

The vacant home suits ones desire

With the quiet natural sounds pervading like a choir

The shelves of books discovered over head

The lack of ever needing of your own bed

Lovely days with open skies

The endless blue, so utterly true, never dies

I wish there was more I could reiterate

Sometimes to draw attention I just create

But sorrow consumes, I’ve ruined a place

The revision still leaves such empty space

How cruel they are to keep it hidden away

Sections of that everlasting day

Sometimes i just pray

That tonight I’ll remember

That sun that gleams

Tonight I’ll remember those sudden dreams

- Isabella 

© Copyright 2010