a gentle hillside
all daffodils and bluebells
neath an ice blue sky
cold winds blow in from the sea
dark waves becoming breakers
white foam filling the thin strand
seagulls sailing and wheeling
all around i hear them cry
and i stand on this hillside
among the grass and flowers
with my cheeks red and stinging
and think about you and i
without an answer

i am but a flame
of flesh and i am burning
ideas fly in

thrown onto the street
and treated as criminals
the mentally ill

you treat the symptom
but you ignore the cause
at your own peril

life is so complex
that keeping it simple
takes a lot of work

somewhere within
ideoglyphs sail my minds
prevailing wind

quiet street, late night
red across wet black asphalt
stoplight reflected