Inside the darkness,
Hides many,
Mirrors.
Late at night one can be found caressing the edges of reality.
Walking demons and riches or maybe love.
Under a fantasy, stands and falls,
Golden towers of old.
My hairs are made of lightening,
And,
Thunder mares.
Flying into the clouds,
And,
Higher.
Yet the demons will not let go,
Under a heavy load,
Under ,
Tome stones,
Sand Man.
Mystic Dust,
Sleeping tight.
Even Martin Luther King, had a dream.
Dreaming big.
We all dream, don’t we?
What dream isn’t something,
Inspired.
About the Creator
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Objects In The Rearview Mirror
I spent a lot of my formative years on the road. My father was in the military and when we were stationed all around the country (after I spent my early childhood in Japan). Going from place to place in our minivan was always the solution. We drove from Virginia to California with a pitstop in Washington to visit family on the way down. We drove up and down each coast and the one the that always remained the same was music. Music on the radio, music in my earphones from my bright yellow walkman and later on, my portable CD player. So many songs not only were the guidemaps to my childhood, and I can remember the places we were when I really felt them for the first time.
By Josey Pickering6 days ago in Beat
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