Brown eyes,
If you’re wise,
I hope that when the shackles you hold yourself to fall to the ground,
You run,
I hope the most glorious thing you hear is that sound
As tragic symphonies of a pained and broken artist are sung
Or an old bluebird, flying moribund toward the heavens,
Mourning the loss of her young one
I hope you let out a triumphant sigh of freedom
As calamity is done,
And the prize of its expiration is true fun
Because you have realized by now that you are your creator
And it’s about high time your new world has begun
And when you see the essence of the boundless world as I do
I hope you’re divinely entranced and exasperatingly stunned.
