Philosophy lends itself to infinite imagining of perfection.
Leading me to believe we could each have our own perfection.
So my heaven
My heaven would be a sea of
chicken feathers standing upright
A sunset that burns so pink I have to blush the same shade
The lake always stocked with ever-hungry fish
My heaven has a pair of blue eyes
A bass drum chest and the beat that lives inside it
It would be warm hands and cold, reddened cheeks
My heaven would be rich coffee creamer
And a plate of fresh scrambled eggs with too much cheese
It would be a farm sink and blinking fireflies
But I will never reach it
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Journal Uploaded
PoetryThis is a digital copy of my physical poetry and prose journal. While it is meant simply to be a backup, I sincerely hope that you enjoy reading what you find in here! This journal goes back almost two years now so I hope I have improved, and I thin...
