True Reality

“Nature’s first green is gold”

A gold that scatters about

And hides beneath the brown

Or writhes around trees’ crowns

Mist drapes tentatively around emaciated tree branches

Citadels all around me—

Standing guard, guarding the

Door of Death until that day sweeps in

Fallen logs sleep on the ground

While squirrels seek to disturb their rest

Golden seashells ornament the feet of Neptune

And with each gentle motion, four more kiss his soles

A hidden trail greets my eyes and I

Choose to leave this golden dream

To seek my own reality