Paradise

Lies are barb wire snares
That catch the edge of clouds and cause them to squeal.
Some days, I can taste the purple ripple from the tips of mountains
And hear how sweet wildflowers grow free as fire.
Here, lies act as buffers from prophesying dreams,
And jolt us back into reality-
The sepulcher of broken dreams.
In that place, you can't smell the lightening.
That fogged glass door of deception
Is the mesmerizing part of the mirror.
Rain will wait for the end of hope
And roads will lead to fallen stars.

I know you can hear the thoughts locked
Away from sun's relentless stings.
Trees watch and grieve the loss of their land.
The city lights at sun's rise
Look like fallen stars
And inverted heaven
Let paradise be a place on earth.