"Paradise of Strangers"
Willowing life through unknown trails,
Spiraling through waves in oblivious perspective.
Unaware of impacts that screech in the ears of the norm.
Taunted not by a fool's presence,
But shadows cast by a personified fog,
As mist licks the pits of leveled grounds.
Bodies linger lost by others,
Who strut with wings of bravado,
Seemingly hysterical by their personal puns.
Willowing,
Giggling,
Idling nothing but self,
In a dark day,
Clear night,
And pale summer.
All mingle together,
An assembly of strangers,
Distracted by thought which substitutes verity.
Touch by another is prance of a fly.
Piercing of eyes are gawks of an owl.
Smell of Earthy flesh are toads that totter in swamps warmed by silk coats.
Together,
Not alone,
But if as thought.
If as though the sun shines for he alone,
Or the birds chirp for she herself,
Or the trees croak for his soul solely.
Furthest from a touch,
In a touch itself,
Is paradise of imagination,
Carelessness,
And a selfish paradise of strangers.
-FMG
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