My dreams are a wasteland

November 23, 2011
By , Hoffman Estates, IL
My dreams are a wasteland
Cover your eyes and picture this.
The land is barren; the skies are a shade,
The only sound is a raven eerily screeching
His grating melody.
Against the cobalt skies the only sight
Is the broken hawk that is my thoughts.
Cold, frozen dirt sends shards of rocks
Into my soul.
The boulders adorning my wasted boundaries
Whisper, whisper, whisper.
Meet me where the grass is greener.
Greet me where love is for real.
If I were a dove, and you were a hawk,
In the wastelands of my dreams.
If I was the tornado, and you were a volcano
(Wasn’t that the order?)
We could burn this world together.
You could lure me into shadowy grounds,
Haloed grounds…
Death city
Lost paradise.
They both will capture me, devour me.
Catch my soul on the tip of obsidian
And burn it in the pits of Hell.
Would it matter, though?
If I was ready for my soul to burn,
I think maybe I would prefer
To fly as a dove,
And rage as a tornado.
Than to be devoured and burned
In the lost paradise
That is your twisted love.

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