Forgotten Utopia

As I wonder the pastoral fields

I picture my Utopia.

One ruled by a selected elite everything

Is safe and sound.

Children laugh and gather cultured flowers

Utopia. Foreign wall keeps

Brute vagabonds with wild dogs

At bay.

The wealth is shared among people

Man, woman, and child.

Houses replicated in cohesive cookie cutters.

Old man on Bottle.

Nurtures peonies and sprigs of lavender

Law forbids such kindness.

I admire Old man, showing empathy.

Isn’t a Perfect Utopia?

It’s mine; it’s where I grew up.

A Utopia.

Of resilient faces forced to be happy.

Someone Special

He is the glint of gold that blows across the wheat field.

If he were a smell he would smell of dusty leather and horses in the pasture.

Although his hands are calloused and worn...they show his dedication to hard work and experience.

If he was a taste it would be vanilla buttercream dolloped on top of a cupcake.

He would feel like the leather of cowboy boots and a horse's mane.

His eyes hold the deepest blue of the stars.

and is touch is warm and soft like a slowly dimming candle.

He is simple and kind

I can talk to him about anything, anything.

If he were a color he would be a subtle orange, the orange that follows after a sunset.

A sunset we walk eternity to.

Penny's Color Blue

I don't know why...I have always been this way

I don't remember being anyone different.

I don't remember the taste of fresh bread or the warm breath of a summer breeze

I can't remember the color...I only know of blue.

It runs everywhere, pouring into and out of my mouth, ears, nose, and eyes.

Blue bleeds from the eyes of those that weren't there.

Weren't there when the world faded into the deepest of blue.

The lady that tucked me in at night and sang songs when making breakfast was there though.

She tightened my seatbelt and ignored my cries when blue flooded the car. She never wavered when the nose sunk.

I don't remember why...I have always been this way.

bleeding blue. Never being the same as others.