The stark emptiness of a blank canvas unfurling before my eyes. A lush carpet of soft blades of fresh grass tickling my senses as I explore bare foot around the confines of my existence. Will you walk there with me into the unknown? With a touch of my finger I will spread daisies across the horizon, white petals dancing gently in the breeze as yellow faces search for Helios. Long gone are my dreams of crimson petals that line the marble floor. The aged trees in their wisdom will bend their branches and form for us a bed, softened with moss from the woodland grounds and decorated with delicate star white petals, as the soft scent of Jasmine dances on the summer breeze. Will you lay at my side and let me map the contours of your body with a trail of gentle kisses shimmering in the golden sunlight that caresses our uninhibited bodies? And as I dance freely across this canvas of creation, rose bushes of every colour will bloom beneath the shadows of my foot prints, a floral dance floor for the twilight hours as Selene watches from the heavens and creates a pool of tranquility in which for us to bathe, sprinkled delicately with her crystallized devotion. And what beauty will you bring to my vision? Will you lay your palms upon the earth and create for me peahens and peacocks plumes of subtle beauty, so I may see the beauty of his train as he calls to his love? Will you tread upon the luscious grass and leave behind a trail of promised dandelion wishes, for me? Will you look to the heavens and request shooting stars to illuminate our skies? Will you look to the clouds and ask for warm rain to fall from the skies so we may dance together beneath the falling droplets? The stark emptiness of a blank canvas unfurling before our eyes in quartz promises past scars long eschew.
We’ll meet again in an Arcadian dream…
one man’s…is another’s nightmare.
Oh Lord give me not this phantasm
spectacle, high on Poppy seed euphoria
where fear is life itself. Utopia becomes
annihilated by my existence where
I dare no motion beyond that of breathing,
stranded within a non-tactile cage,
suffocating within my own
No, to a soul such as mine
beauty is found in the falling droplets of rain
on the far edge of thunderous
clouds, among wild flowers and ruling weeds. I
long not for Virgil’s divinity but for the homelands
of Pan and his impromptu essence worn by the
nymphs that walk at his side.
My horizon is cursed were it blessed
by a white Knight drawing to stand by me,
for is knowledge not wisdom?
Was it not always known?
Arcadia, home land to Pan, rustic beauty and wild music,
where the Dark Knight shares my throne.