Gently spread the skirt of life,
‘cross the cognitive lap of
your mind.
Blanket the weight of your
daily cares and tuck them
away in bed.
Brush curls of conceit behind
your ear and listen to
creatures of heart.
Open your eyes to the voice
of enchantment and converse
with created illusions.
It’s time to recline ‘neath the
tree of perception, as you drift
and bend it at will.
You just might find, in the
realm of conception that
reality never existed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem. Write more., ....