Somewhere between the sun and the neon light

A poem written in the haze and maze of urban craze. To the sights, shapes and sounds that form my reality comes my benediction.


Take me to the pitch of night
Yonder where skies part and bluebirds take flight.
Wake me from these staccato dreams
Shuddering, plundered, ripped from their seams
For in this bliss of Eden lie no truths, just sweetness and light
Through the looking glass I peered
Upon a portal, dim, dwindled and veneered
The revolution be not mine if dance I may not
Waylaid, wanted, villified by the pitch of Camelot.