He spoke of place he knew
A place he so desperately
wished to return to.
A place where
People like us
Roamed free.
You and I,
Them.
Where minds
Can explode,
And implode yet again.
On unspoken truths.
The subtle shifts in wind,
As frequencies latch
To perception
Peaceful pieces.
Stable entirety.
Where people
Were not constant
Or consistent.
Where they sit beside you,
Or me,
Or themselves.
And let the mental hues
And silent cues
Paint their escapades
With pride.
Such relief.
He marched on
Through these dulled parts
Of lifeless pastels
and vocal triggers.
Hoping for a yellow brick.
To find his way
With disdain.
Such release.