The great wall is powdered gold,
By the tired sun, slowly rising,
Only to fall back upon his own weight.
A trickle of lingering night
Floats in the corner of my palace,
It chills the air a dark blue.
Streaks of surreal colors
Hiccup, laugh, and mourn their drunkenness
They sing a drowsy tune,
Tall green forests and rolling fields
Licked azure and olive by
Young fauns and faeries.
The sun light rushes in
Washing away the leftover
Colors of dreams.