Idealism

Perhaps tis’ a dream written

With a script from the most

Idealistic love scene. Sweet scented

Fruits bloom a stretch away from my

Looking glass. Lemons, ripened, ready,

Plucked quickly with a cheeky glance.

Peter Pan who grew up too soon

Cackles and hordes the golden treasure

Into the depths of the coolest cave,

With marble floors to sooth burning feet

Pattering profanity to escape the heat.

So, if one must travel far, or if one must

Travel at all, one must look more closely

Beyond these white washed walls.

Into the green groves of the olive trees

We venture. Sweat, clinging to the skin

Masks the clear headed calculations we make,

A hop here and shuffle there, bare chested

And bare knees exposed to the prickles of

Tiny hands scratching for sustenance.

Blood trickles in abundance, streams

Of rubies tumble over a pallid page.

Yet, there is peace. A quiet afternoon

Shattered by a smiling moon, melodies

Melodies beckon to each wide eyed, doe eyed

Dancer, awkwardly gawking, talking, walking.

Is this heaven? This funny little place,

So far from a human race, where we drink

And think, and then we forget. Where the

Misty blue mountains turn green and gold

As the sunrises and a secret’s told

Two footprints in the sand, two people

And two hands, held as one with nights

On a creaky, crumbling pier and days

Spent flying high or drinking beer.

Yes, this simple scene is seen in two dreams;

An ache for liquids with lemon and lime

An ache for hours of unlimited time,

So skimpy skirts with glittered eyes

Can hunt for prey and hide in disguise. 

Happiness found and sealed in a mark

Sourced in a promise, a dare in the dark,

Secret pools, paintings, peaches,

Silent sorrys on breezy beaches,

These are the blissful creatures of my mind

Confined to memories, odd to others

In a script set for two idealistic lovers.