Under a grave shadow I sit
The sun's rays almost hitting
A slight breeze ruffles my hair
All the while my fingers strew through green grass amidst
Seeing Towering Northern mountains
Smelling A tinge of salt from the Western sea
Hearing Sounds of celebration from the Eastern empire
Feeling an atmosphere of fear and sadness beckoning from the Southern trade
I ponder lying in content
My brain differentiating fact from fiction
Funny as it may be all is fake
However so real my mind wraths in defeat
My concious not accepting my awareness
A lucid dream is refuge
My savior from the mundane and monotonous task of daily life
©kamen1
K