Plasmagrape

I remember the days of my childhood

The sun on my face, the grass beneath my feet

I would run and play, not a care in the world

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The land where my people reside,

Has become a place where they hide,

From the rusted metal that echoes like thunder,

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For years I searched for my father,

Lost in the Western lands,

Where oceans raged and thunder crashed,

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You are standing on a beach.

The sand is warm and soft to the touch.

The sun is out and the sky is a clear brilliant blue

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I exist in limbo, between here and there, in a state of despair,

Lost in a time loop of déjà vu, with no escape from the snare.

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We are all makers of it

With an action

Or a sharp word

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A tiny frog on a petal so fine

Lies still in a world that is divine

With eyes closed and a smile so serene

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