A Surreal Bliss

 

 

Frozen harbored wasteland

Washed with ice crystals

In a borrowed light refraction

Layered upon my warm solitary thoughts

I wish to be young again

Not knowing about the real world

And the way it works

But simply being drawn by

A surreal bliss

Of creative emotions and wayward whims

Frolic and a good company of friends

Captured today

In pockets of random miss-firings

Of a certain way the seasons speak to me

On my road

To a more disciplined destiny

Surely there are plenty

Of others to be discovered

So I’ll rest easy and assured

Under warm dream-laden covers