There is color in the flowers.

And moisture in the rain.

The rocks are hard and heavy.

And the soil holds all pain.

I’ve been dancing in the meadows.

I don’t dare to stay too long.

And only under darkened skies.

Where the thunder plays my song.

No more confab with the foolish.

Or the prideful, boastful voice.

I take it to the world at large.

And pretend I have a choice.

Sometimes, I miss delusions.

In the busy city streets.

And the chaos and confusions.

But not the phones and texts and tweets.