PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Rainbows and rolling green hills,
And to wake up to your sweet voice
In a meadow of the imagination.

But we lay there in the grass,
Tossing in a pasture well kept
With your hair gently kissing the breeze.

You smiled at me,
And the furnace turned what was flourishing
Ever since we were young and innocent.

But the meadow was not real.
We wake up.
And you are gone.