June 2003
There’s a world that’s really not too far
From the place you call your home,
Where the playful winds can race and stop
To stir an ocean’s purple foam.
Where the scaly birds crawl blindly
Across the molten liquid ground,
Where gophers gamble and game away
And the flying moose abound.
Where the sweetest smells are sickly
And the sugar-candy sour,
Where the sharpest point grows duller
With every single passing hour.
Where the pompous people scamper
Into their rainbow crystal caves,
To escape the burning frigid heat
That strikes in harmless deadly waves.
And the silver sun smiles down upon
The pale crimson sky,
With glowing beams of brilliant black
To which the thirteen moons reply.
It’s a world that’s really not too far
Though fantastic it may seem,
A world of complex simplicity
And it’s called my waking dream.
Age: 15
