Petty/Beautiful

This dream; mysterious and vain, echoes beauty in bouncing tones.
Each tapping the real and entrapping the mind
A glorious green which I had never seen before
With a herd of glowing sheep all fleeing and being so kind.
This beauty does not strike one in the face
It is a silent spectacle - the dormant damsel;
Taken away from your grasp at the first sign of rapture
Stripped, broke down, evaporated even
into a jar to sell.
Back and forth, to and fro, stolen and giveth again
Like the hot potato of horticulture in my hands.
Yet, Tall trees tell tales of age and wonder
But they are lost in the forest of their own making
Their own beauty, the ripe red and free fruit
And it all makes sense in the event of my waking.
These elegant lies sent to sky before your puzzled eyes
The dark clouds of day, the busy sounds of microwaves and motorways;
They've no place in a one second sequila paradise
And the images we see are only ours to give away.