I sit in a small field of wild flowers,
Any flower you can imagine,
The moon peaks from behind wispy gray clouds,
The field is my ball room floor,
The trees the walls with their stories in their bark,
The flowers dance with the soft breeze,
Their perfume a complimentary melody,
To the Orchestra of stars above,
A song so rich it becomes a ceiling and surrounds me within my field of flowers,
The sky is my chandelier,
The Stars my orchestra,
The field my ballroom,
The flowers the dancers,
And my house the keeper of my bed,
Rarely used,
For I sleep in my bed of flowers,
Almost every night falling asleep,
Under my chandelier sky.
YOU ARE READING
Into The Abstract
PoesiaPoetry and thoughts that have plagued my mind. Not all of it was saved, but some of it was, so here it is lovelies.
