Fantasy
Fantasy
The nearby trees rustle softly in the gentle breeze before it moves on to brush our hair with its
combs of air.
The sweet smell of the wild nurtures our inner child.
We show our love as we raise our hands to all that is above.
Hear the call of the wild.
Invite the fantasy,
sweet and mild.
Receive its beauty.
Don't be afraid to truly feel.
It's authentic.
It's never been more real.
Light the candle wick.
Begin to heal.
Fantasy.
All things wonderful in a word.
Ecstasy is dying to be heard.
Copyright © Sarah Herring | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment