stars peeking out at
the begining of dusk,
cosmic beauty
flying in their shine.
moons floating around
a single pull, a
force unwilling to bend.
the world was created
in a curious way-
i want to live in the ocean
and fear the land,
dance on the moon
and scoff the earth-
but instead of my
wants, someone
else said
the sky is blue,
the wood is brown,
color is real,
and dreams are not.
i know there are reasons
that we couldn't understand,
but i know one.
we don't get what we want.
the sky is blue.
not black or white.
deal.
it's our curious world,
with it's curious moon
and stars.
deal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
True...but why should it not be so...indeed a good poem10