Recalling my grandfather's stories of his youth,
I close my eyes and drift back through time,
to a place that is quiet and mellow

It's a sunny, spring day and I'm running through a field
with the old, winter's dead leaves,
was tired and fell a sleep on my couch
through my lucid dream I was taken away
to a far off place unlike anything I ever encountered

ivy briars marked with the deadened Redwood nearby
thoughts of skulls permeate my fragile egg shelled mind
in the center of my room was a vase red with marked decorum
a scent of a finely mist perfume came forth through the room
where was I but none other then Xanadu

this place was fallen with emblems of satin reflection
scarlet dust marked the sides of the scenary
for I was in mere twilight in my own lost sphere
humbly shed a single tear to help numb the inner pain
outside further their was a stream where the dear pant

heard the cry of the fainted owl in the distance
yet in the quiteness will steal through its resistance
golden bowls with lines drawn through them
shaped glass in its solitude of masked hidden fancy
little fairies were nearby cause I heard their laughter

so I humbled myself amidst this busy dream and awoke
to the vast expanse of the reality of nothing more then solitude.