Enter a porcelain shore of dream,
Where tea-clouds pour in liquid cream,
A crescent moon of fondant white
Met chocolate rivers, smooth and bright.
Bisected hemisphere of grace,
Suspended in a waking space,
It hovered where the mornings start—
A velvet-skied, sweet Neenish tart.
No baker’s hand had set it there,
It floated on a fragrant air,
Divided neatly, line-drawn true,
Between the old world and the new.
One half was silver, kissed with dew,
The other, midnight's deepest hue,
And right between the halves, a gleam
Of lemon-scented, citrus dream.
It whispered of a sunlit noon
Beyond the borders of the moon,
Where every fracture mends in gold,
And sweetest futures softly unfold.
About the Creator
Forest Green
Hi. I am a writer with some years of experiences, although I am still working out the progress in my work. I make different types of stories that I hope many will enjoy.
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