I am content when wakened birds
Wake me from my dream
Before they fly, they test reality
My reality is an illusion
Remote as a vision in perpetual flux
Of misty fields, by sweet questioning
I live a half-life of indifferent blue
Upon the grey and white shores
Of what I call birth and death
The years pass, I am a biological spark
Neither the golden underground
Or the woman of my dreams can release me
I am content when wakened birds
Whisper to me that I may fly too
They wake me from my dream
With feminine whisperings of procreation
A much more friendly part of paradise
Where labor seems natural and eventful
April’s green endured desires for June
Tiptoed and spent on wings of consummation.
Photography Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Panorama-Of-Ondic-398431868