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Poem

A dream made possible from a sprinkle of stardust 
Cleanse your soul and dip in a vanilla bath tub 
Bath in the springs trankled transparent waters warmth and feel your spirit rise from the pool of turquoise tranquility. 
Another shrub covers those scented leaves where ferns and murre politely compliment  the seasonal herbs at our feet. 
Oh angel of night spread your wings and carry me to the desert oasis. 
Faces look weather worn like the leathers of my protective wear. 
This selected chair where he sits and chooses his own voice. 
From sorrow and pain to rebuild
It's his choice not mine. 
I visualize and listen to the drums of warning  and hear the elders calling out words of advice through this lonely destitution and bleak destiny ravaged and ruined. 
Fading light as gravestones topple upon the heads of deaths children. 
We are the moons nocturnal delight, the flight, the tides of waisted life, the winding clocks, the wind of change and the chains that bind. 
We are the brave, the brazen left behind watching decaying forms rise, raising up muddy, we rose from gutters of sidewalks like rats scuttling for sacred safety followed by the privileged in a sceptical manner and in unexpected patterns of spirituality. 
Is this the good,  the trust,  the love, the freewill,  the fear,  is this the gush. 
Spar with the masked figure in the distance. 
Black gloves cover the face of abandonment. 
Lone in bewilderment.  Reclusive revolutionist with blueprints and equipment to reject society.  Focused on death and destruction with sudden impact. 
His flesh crawls impatient.  He can't breath. 
The transparent water turns murky as he bleeds rust.  It turns red turns orange turns brown as his crust flakes and he breaks away
And his thoughts turn to life as he fades to grey

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