I’m past the point of feeling sorry for myself…

I’m past the point of feeling sorry for myself…
That tree bark is all the same color…
I prefer meandering in the sky’s shades of blue…
You know, that color crayon children choose every-time.

I can’t explain the depths of this blue…
I just know within it there are no illusions…
Following it I find myself in a gently warm city…
Into a different kind of quiet.

It’s all right here, just on the opposite side of the street…
Where there is wildness of every variety…
Come on, I know you want to take a peek…
It’s wild and pure as paradise.

Unfortunately, religion has shaped us…
There is a shadow of a spire always over our shoulders…
Monuments built by man’s hands…
Dry as a bone and full of dust.

Instead let’s follow the wandering wind…
Let it fill our sails and off we go!
Leave all those pebbly edges of the shore…
And ride the easy blue.

I love you,

Annie