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Poem

The colors opened up my artist mind and made her cry.
With delight, enthusiasm pouring down my body.
Which is svelte, tall, the fragrance of cherry blossoms.
The creatures here are asexual, so there is no pressure.

My utopia is a stress-free zone, where all cares are gone.
Misery, heartbreak and grief are not allowed in this wonderland.
We each live in our own pod, nurturing ourselves in soul satisfaction.
Ideas parade up and down my author’s mind day and night.

I pick up a canvas and begin to paint. The next pod is singing.
She has a gorgeous voice, and I can elect to hear or not to hear.
You heard me right. We can put each other’s pods on mute.
I have muted the other guy’s pod. He is clog dancing day and night.

I see his larger pod shaking, but no longer have to listen to his taps.
Cinnamon sugar toast is ready, brought to me with a side of bananas.
Warm and toasty! My guy's name is Serve. He is assigned only to me.
I have cold chocolate milk, hot coffee or orange juice he offers.

I am lying in the land of my dreams, without any cares or woes.
If I had known Utopia was this terrific, I would have died sooner.

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