I am lost to creativity

as i am lost to most other things in this world
they are all beautiful yet distant;

i live in the stem of my money plant;

i dream on star lit nights
like everyone else

most people r rid of me

it does matter to some;

they eyes r dreamy and teary eyed;

the moon is silent like a crater of ice

i must go to bed in my lil stem;

the waves come rushing

but they wont drown me

neither would they raise me up to the heavens

or to the pearly moon light

i sleep knowing the waves rumble inside the walls of my mind

i sleep knowing i will be raised to heaven after my time is done and i will go to a distant land

the land of my mind

and i shall die into air from there

beautiful things last in that land

things that are delicate regenerate

i get broken in peices but all r home to me everwhere i guess

i must look at the moonlight for succor and peace and silence


beautiful lies the wastelands of desert ice and stony gravelly sands