Fun Stuff Poem by James McLain

I long to be what I was, happy and free.
You know the happy stuff, if happy you ever were.
Dreams you had when you wer't young,
to Young to have a dream and die in it.
There inside, alive in it and more alive,
that you had when you were young.
The sun is out, yellow it burned inside
of the soul of life breathing green.
The white light can be mistaken once
near death one comes back without tears.
Every night's not the last it's said,
through a rose on the wall, the lizard is.
Slowly it rose in a way that the sun in the sky,
on the wall year's ago.
Between you or I in the dream, as colors of red
turned the head of her last seen.
Their way up there looking down on us, with
their machines, that listened first.
And did they not with open eye's at the
sign of hope.
Happy stuff, stuff not having been seen,
like the shadow that touches the sky.
It rose and rose untill it touched the stars and it.
Below the thick wall some have made,
if white vanilla puddled like that made unseen.
Dripping from the spicket it's warm,
are the moist humid day's.
Above you inside of the dream, not forgot.
Like a raw sky,
without clouds that shine down, happy stuff
that we were as a child.
Lazy asleep in the sun.