painted

The Painted World

The painted world
Is where I long to be.
The written world
Is what I long to see.
The creative world
Is what I must find.
But I can't escape
This state of mind.

Zoning out,
I can't hear you,
Don't want to,
You jabber on and on
About facts I don't need to know,
Why can't we just sit?
Admire the crystal snow,
Seek the unseen treasure,
The sweet morning scent,
Find that simple pleasure.

The world is spinning backwards,
The sun sets in the east,
But the clocks keep going,
Round and round,
That sickening, ticking sound,
The sound that means we still have time,
The sound that means life's sweet chime
And death's cold grasp.
Yet no one can hear
Your choking rasp.

Why can't I live
In the painted world?
The world of colours
And magnificent wonders,
The world without pollution
Or pain,
The world with no death,
Doesn't pour when it rains.

Where is the painted world?
Does it lie in the sky?
Where the clouds dance,
And the birds fly?

I don't know if it's there,
Though I can't wonder why.
Is it not human nature
To hope and imagine
There's a place where another world lies?

The painted world
Is where I long to be.
The written world
Is what I long to see.
The creative world
Is what I must find,
But I just can't escape
This state of mind,
Because I know,
I know,
There's no such thing
As a utopia,

Not in life,


But I can dream.