Time is calling me back,
to a place of clashing swords.
I remember drifting through the wasteland but not feeling lost.
I remember adventures as real in my imagination as could be,
An envisaged dream as solid as diamonds.
In a girl’s eyes I see strength and values,
long erased by a poverty of the mind.
Why do the streets reek of disaster?
Why do the shouts of the crowds go unheard age after age?
The history of exploration is just colonization and war,
Yet in just a glimpse of fiction,
I see a spark that means so much more.
Copyright (C) bardicblogger / a thinker never sleeps / Teri Montague 2012.
All rights reserved.
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