Nightmares of overgrown metropolis,
skyscraper and silver steel necropolis.
Where zombies walk,
where people avoid gazes and never talk.
A place where darkness breathes and breeds.
No one ever leaves.
Just amble along aimlessly.
Dreams of open roads,
dirt paths to old worlds.
New streets to ancient cities.
old walks to shining seas.
Hills that climb above mountainous trees,
to watch over the greens and blue
of this our world, glorious and true.
Dreams of open roads,
anywhere they may go.
He dreams of flowing fields of emerald grass
Billowing seas of the deepest cobalt,
reflecting the sky like glass.
Foaming waves forming.
In the sky storms are performing
to the audience with the clearest view.
Dreams of open roads,
where no one is rushing.
No metal cocoons are polluting.
The air around dashing,
as the storm surge comes crashing
He dreams of hope,
with people laughing, chatting
instead of backstabbing and clashing.
Dreams of open roads,
old city walls, quirky model villages,
steeped in blood through years of history.
Dreams with eyes open wide,
Like the roads, upon which have guided
his journey from nothing,
to nowhere in a long single stride.
Thank you for reading,
please check out my books on Amazon.
Peace, Love and Poetry
Kyle.
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