In Central Park's chaos
Those dreams of billowing cloud forms
A thousand miles away
Under the tall pines
Feint odors of burnt diesel exhaust
Stinging the nostrils
Drills puncture the earth
Searching for oil
Fossil fuel muffles the sound
Of screaming dinosaurs
That drive the forces
Of scouring winds
Causing wilting flowers
That die in the autumn breeze
Upon the lake that's traveled
A swan's breath is seen
Forming in the mist
Of grappling fog embracing trees
Not far off are the quiet fields
Where myths are born
~Moses~
© 2009 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
