Your eyes whisper words,
light pouring from your spirit,
reflections of truth.

We sat on the roof
guitars and voices sounding
Moonlight serenade.

Please, Morpheaus, come
with your horses of the night
and grant me sweet sleep.

Sandstorm in the East
twin hulking giants fallen
holy war ensues.

Green grass bends at wind
yielding to the sky's soft touch
fields like ripp'ling lakes.

Handbag at her side
she sits cross-legged, waiting,
for class will soon end.

Kiss of the dragon
through hollow vessels it strikes
with sweet smoke venom.

Opium sinks in.
Its sweet perfume fills the room,
wafting smoke lifts us.

The sun won't shine here.
We must make our own light
to see the future.