They watched and scripted tyranny in solo,
ad nasceum until the demons fingers were tired.
reckless as the roaring waters crashing and cascading down upon splashing and crashing.
The days were tiresome at best,
keeping your head bobbing,
Once, twice, or thrice,
giving everything that rosy hue of everything nice.
The terror of the monsters who belong in cages.
But the days scatter us to and fro,
like dandilion pollen,
in the wind we shall go.
Tossed in an updraft,
rise and fall,
as often as the book says,
now you must turn the page.
Open that door,
wander into the street!
Grass deep green,
and tall oak tree!
Higher and higher,
the clouds scrape the tree tops,
as the sun shines down.
And I sit here solo in the trees and
see the birds, ride the horses, and Sunflowers with fuzzy bumble bees.
And my mind rattles on this Sololiquy.
The dreamers dreams and the
the echo from the past.
That late night walk,
starry skies and galaxy shine,
moon lit beautiful,
and warm nights under pines.
The ice cold bike ride in late fall, music playing on a disc man, and my mind running wild.
Picture it all rolling in a wave of memory.
We were all there,
at one time or another,
laughing with a stranger,
as if they were your brother,
maybe from another mother.
The giggle fades and the tide rolls back out to sea.
The sand is warm,
the sea is cool.
And the day is long.
Wander in the dunes,
watching the rolling waves.
The sun beats down and warms your face.
Here we are,
living in this amazing and beautiful place.