Barley Out Yonder
A painfully blue sky
Above acrid Plains
Where cyan light and fluffy
Still sits atop dense anvil of gold
And restless wind rustles the rustic realm of tangibility:
This place we idly roam,
A world of Life caressed by Midas.
Alas, no stone to crush Demeter's pebbles
And, still alas, no water's harvest from fluid planes.
So inbetween we take our place
Among abstract and concrete space
But Yonder sits the Devil's Hell wick
This world we live in Asphodelic.
~JD Campbell
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Nightmares of an Insomniac
PoetryA collections of poems for those of us who love, live, cry, and play, even while the world is asleep.
