Calm

Move the mist from faraway
Creeps eager on green meadows
Fingers laces through the trees
Of vivid dreams and fantasies

Creep forth what sweet sentiments do not contain
a tantalizing dewdrop trickling into hungry mist
With crimson washes away the resigned smell of
lilac and ocean

And with such breaking dawn or sunset
comes the air of big calm
a slight blanket over the icing roofs
and the haggard country

In a place not so abrasive nor chafing
a place to delve underneath the folds
of a stone-bridged green river
dead-legged swinging into the blue meadows
of velvet undertones and denim reach

Yet you stick your finger
on the pin of oversun
and you are reminded

that no place is Paradise.

NOTE: From the Beyond the Misty Mountains comp.