Inner realms
The meadow's comforting Mint green; Zephyr stirred blades, Surrounded by rustling Late spring lush age old oak trees; I see Their winding branches In my most private escapist Fantasies.
Unchartered territory; unshared, if you will.
With the sun On my back — always Shunned for its blatant Eye-piercing brightness — I could Watch The stark blue of, Above, the spotless sky, In attempts to quiet my racing mind, But I find this heaven's endless emptiness Only irks me.
Baby blue, I know you; The shimmering crystal castle at your heart And the lazy lamb clouds Drifting by.
I have seen
Underwater realms Where orbs of light guide All those who can breathe, so allowed.
I have seen
Lands of slate stone frothing waves Where white cliffs weather ongoing rage; Fantastic spectacles Of lightning and Rain.
Realms of perpetual flame, Soothing to the touch, where music plays For phantasmagorical dancers.
Realms of coal and blood.
All, unique, and charming, I'm sure, yet not For me. Not specifically, at least.
My retreat Is the oak embraced meadow With its Interchanging shades Of soothing green. Empty, so empty, And yet sometimes all of the sudden Bestrewn with daisies.
Then, I think:
'This is where we'll fall in love.'
That is What I believe in.
--- 8-3-2024, M.A. Tempels ©











