I'm lying on a soft, warm bed
not made of cotton
but of dirt and pebbles
I stretch my fingers over it
and sigh as I open my eyes
My eyes are round with wonder
as they take in the canopy of flowers above
Long, vibrant stems caress my body
as the peaceful white ladies
stand tall beside me
This can't be real, I think.
Yet I stretch out my hands
and pluck a flower
to feel its power
Beautiful and so fragile,
a poor little thing indeed
I put it in my mouth to taste
and cringe as I taste leather.
I push myself off the ground
and stand over the eerie canopy
that confused me so.
Then I look up
to see rolling hills
stretched out as far
as the eye can see.
As I stand there admiring
A push makes me lurch forward
and I fall on the ground
out of my real bed
tangled up in my bed sheet.
I'm depressed as I realize
that I'm back to my reality
and I curse the one
who had pushed me.

I hate to admit it, I rarely dream, this is true.
But when I rarely dream, all I see's me and you.

Love is not in the air
No.
Love is in the ground
The ground on which you walk.

Love is not a feeling
No.
Love is the way you look at me
When I'm not looking.

Love is not the past
No.
Love is the present
the seed that became a tree

Love is not the future
No.
Love is forever
Love is you and me.