I've had a reoccuring dream since I was 8yr old. It's so much easier being young. |
I want to go back where I belong- Far from this banal-retentive place; Away from the sponge of satire the city scrubs me filthy with. I am going to climb back into my butterfly gardens, under the teal umbrella tree on the hill, swing from a hammock of moss, bask in the heat of the orange afterglow of morning, and eat pineapple with my fingers. I want to ride the country fields on a mare of alabaster, to feel the soft wind caress my cheeks with the pungent sent of hot pomegranates, and let my hair fall strewn behind me in a waterfall of lilac, And watch the faerie dragons skid around me like a maypole. I await to sit again on that wooden bridge; the salmon and yellow one with hearts in the carved railings- the one I constructed myself from dream and memory. I want to sit there in the middle of it and let my toes carve into the laughing face of the gentle brook below, with sprites dancing around my crown like a stain glass halo. I cry; my eyes bleeding sorrow knowing I may never return. To think the chill concrete can bind and decay my passage back, duskening my memories in a feeble attempt to shackle my fiery heart in cold finger of iron. No- Not me. The dream child will return. I am going home. |