This place called home

 

A daydream

slides across my eyes,

a veil slipped over

this bride of twilight,

the city night,

to which

I wed my life.

 

And I'm walking

amongst

concrete mountains,

waterfall fountains

and silver steel trees.

Vines growing

from the story lines

that walk alongside me.

Each strand - a different

texture and colour,

like a stray thread

from a rainbow pullover,

seamlessly sewing

themselves

into the fabric sentiments

of this settlement.

 

I take a seat.

Swept away on the

wisps of a dream.

I see the clock tower shining

like clockwork moonlight

over the history

bled into the blades

of asphalt grass

that weeps beneath my feet.

 

Onwards I walk,

with my head in the clouds,

angels sing songs as if everything

is painted in golden sounds.

In this space I call my city,

I feel at ease

with the waves

as if I'm adrift at sea.

 

And as I sail on, alone, I see

a big difference to the

solitary trail, the place called home,

the wonderland where words

travail the winds,

where giants proclaim themselves

to be aspects of our shared duality.

This City and me.

And if this life is a dream,

then from the soundless thoughts

that bound around my empty mind

to the page that represents them,

I gift all I have

to make your dreams

become reality.