The bright sky after the storm.
The rains smell washed clean.
confessions of the innocent gentle and forlorn.

As in visions we seek the a place beyond
what others can claim to have seen.
As the view does vanish.
we reflect apon its perfection as is
caught within a dream.

Hands of ice thoughts as stubborn
cast in stone.
To bitter to admit the pain
So prison from a view unknown.

In a dark landscape there may exist light
over the next ridge but who will journey to see.
It's a choice we must make to try and fail
or wallow in misery.

Children dream without limits so why should
we stop with time.
Age effects all like the pages
of a book of rhyme.

We dream so long only to marvle to the
monsters weve grown.
Thoughts for sale are a mystery.
from this view unknown