My senses wonder how to find peace
among company not familiar
with the lightest touch.  
Even though I have written down
everything of which I dream.  
My words are not heralded
by the new age the same
because a pebble
means more to them
than a beautiful sunset's beams.

The youngest
seem to rise inside the walls
with no names,
disguised as sparkling diamonds
known as hope.  
I must beware of their winds
as they can overwhelm
the very air I cradle and for which I fight.  
Or, I may find my Heaven
has become absent
and that I have given up everything
I know to be right.

I could look straight through the glass
and hear the strangest voices ever
from my reality.  
And, I would want to know
what lies at the bottom,  
posing as flowers for my hair.
Still, I find there are wrinkles in my climate
painted on the panes of life,
numbed by “I don't care”.

If I tried to escape or perhaps fight
for what I believe,
would I be considered shallow?  
Could I still feel   the appeal of peace
or would I want to cover my heart in sleep?  
So, I watch the schemes
of those not familiar with the lightest touch
then watch them drink the wine
of what they reap.