The future writes itself
In told stories
Of conscious thought
Those preferred are those
With the greenest of heart
No illusions
Of cosmic fusion
Clarity knocks
On no door
No bricks
No walls
Dancing in time
Rising with sunshine
With a winter cold
Follows a spicy summer
Gladiators of peace
Weave magic
Of secrets old
The cameleon grins
Paved with tradition
The river flows
With a gypsy band
Sat on its bank
And not one heart sank
An understanding of peace
Succeeding festivals
With permanent rest
Celebrated in sun
Rediscovering inevitable luck
No frustrated conflict
Just the smell of the cooking pot
As the future is told
A simmering heat
Soothes the stream
Of no illusion
CHeLsIA RoSe LaMbErT