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In the beginning we were surprised by love
The magnificent bright sun of it,
A childish scrawl of yellow crayola
In a broken line of blue sky
With blank spaces awakening
The idea of infinite possibility,
As if we were shakily scribbled
Free flying, V-shaped birds
Escaping the dense gravity of reality
For the perfection of an uncertain destiny.
We pictured a perfect paradise,
Beyond simple summer time,
And turned away our eyes
From broken banks of grey clouds
That would bring winter’s icy rain
And freeze the wandering of our wings.
Rimbaud Dee
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