My best work may be behind me
clouded in midnight dust, bottles, and empathic Sha-la-la
That bird is gone now
in the valley astray, gliding through Dream 1, and Dream 2
not an utterance in the ethereal space.
At the brink of Vernal Equinox I am re-imagined:
That valley bird, gone indeed, yet a Phoenix emerges hemorrhaging growth.
The imagination Stampede, the deafening glory cry
It is lovely to have similar feathers, and to talk freely with companions.
I know what this means now.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
My best work may be behind me
clouded in midnight dust, bottles, and empathic Sha-la-la
That bird is gone now
in the valley astray, gliding through Dream 1, and Dream 2
not an utterance in the ethereal space.
At the brink of Vernal Equinox I am re-imagined:
That valley bird, gone indeed, yet a Phoenix emerges hemorrhaging growth.
The imagination Stampede, the deafening glory cry
It is lovely to have similar feathers, and to talk freely with companions.
I know what this means now.
*Dream 1, and Dream 2
are poems on my page for reference.
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