Utopian thoughts
I glide serenely on polished floors,no hardskin to mar my course,
I have the pale pink
of carved alabaster,
I am cool and uncreased,
I have ceased to age
and have become
the most veritable of Sages;
I predict your fortunes,
inspect palm lines
and send you all
to exotic locations
be it sand, the abrasive
grit to exfoliate yourselves,
mineral laden seas
and purifying mud baths
where you wrestle off
all those aggravating things
and fling yourself down
mountain slopes
with all the joie de vivre
of a seasoned proffessional
and I guarantee, no broken limbs,
I give you wings
Go my geese
while I sleep
soft eider dreams.
Poetry by Elle
Read 632 times
Written on 2009-09-08 at 09:54
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