There Is a Place To Call Our Own Part 2
Round us spread the loveliness,
No words could form more the
Relentless character of the land.
Each passing moment I Inhaled
The sweetness of the air,
Too sweet it was! Flowing throughout
My body as though it was inherent
To my being. Giving me more life
Than any dream could dare give.
A threshold of our own,
A passageway to purity,
An entrance to eternal enjoyment!
What was it, some ask?
Such unfathomable locations
One cannot simply stir up, or create
At their own capricious whims, alas,
Such dwellings exist. A mere home
For the passioned, a simple
Place to dream of when skies
Are gloomy, covered in some darkness,
Yet one that brings forth necessary rain for life
To grow and live on. Why carry such
Necessities unworthy of our lives? Impossible
Stretches of land, beyond even the keenest sight,
Or yet the most accurate map.
Beyond the scope of any teacher,
There too lies wisdom.
Delight abounding in every shake
Of every tree on every hill whose smooth descent
Glistened of the moon and brought to our sight
A perfect mirror of the sky!
Deep romantic chasms filled
With darker light, and still with rivulets
Lining the underneath, declining into the distance,
Towards some cluster of waterfalls,
Splashing in rapture, the waters a shade
Of azure, together in harmony,
The sound of Nature!
Bending near were some olden oaks.
And here was a complete release of all things
Constraining, no constructs to freedom existed.
This was not simply ours, together we shared its splendor
With an uncountable array of creatures, all unseen before.
Each a mimicry of the land they called home;
Each with a fate undetermined.
Orchards in the distance told yet
Of more flowery places to come.
Possibly an all-white daisy landscape,
Or a sea of honey flowers,
Waving through time, like the ceaseless oceans,
Heaving up and down, one could not help
But get lost in its quivering dance!
Quite near were sounds of children,
Or maybe the mind was now
In its own domain, playing games of
Past with each other, frolicking,
And prancing, and fluttering, so many
Words to paint this! Yet none capture
The essence of such indescribable scenes,
One cannot help but to be struck in the mind,
Forever engrained with a memorial.
And here was a Utopia! Nor yet stained
By any vices. And rupturing near us were
Still roots of some future plant, maybe
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