In A Fantasy Poem by Chris Townsend

In A Fantasy



In a deep crevasse there exists a fine dividing line,
A place where clocks don’t tick, there’s no need for time,
In this place there lives a man, a child like person of no refrain,
He shouts at the moon and cries to the wind and screams at rain,
Some would say this man, his mind is in a spin,
He would say he is waiting for the world to catch up with him,
His deep recount his fantasy,
A place where no binds hold him back, for he is free,
If you shout no one hears,
If you stare no one cares,
In this world of glittering silence and peace,
A solitary man exists, he yearns to let go his demons, to release,
The dogs of war to flow through out the land,
And to replay his most fortunate lifestyle, drifting in sand,
As heat and cold equally to man kind their demise,
This man stands in his ever so calm, truthfully cloaked in lies,
He helps himself and sees the world as it truly is,
Stands within his own boundaries, freedom is a mindful gift,
A freedom like this is a crowded solitude for one,
In the blink of a mind’s eye, this freedom is gone,
The reality pressurises him, he cries aloud,
As he searches for another way in to his secret existence, to be lost and found
This man is here he is by your side,
In your gentle ear, he sighs to confide,
His fantasy roles upon this earth,
This poor boy, his perpetual search,
To roll around in this countryside,
To find the secrets, which only he needs to find,
To be in his lifetime a person with no wealth,
To reckless abandonment, to forgive his health,
To shield his weakness so that no one can see,
This sounds like heaven a place I could be…

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