Utopia

 

In a perfect word

there’d be more love than hate,

more sex than pain

sunrise that you met with dreams

where hands could built them as truths

and lips spilled honesty

we could climb the clouds

wear stars as gemstones in hope,

use words to invite

instead of slay,

spend time creating

rather than destroying.

 

Wind would have wings

ever lifting to take a soar

where we would see ourselves and others

for the precious gift that God intended.

 

But this is from the heart’s womb of fantasy,

the pristine portrait of flawless vision.

It is the well from heaven’s essence

we drink without being aware

how its flavor comes from eternity

where perfect always exists.

 

And every image we cultivate

of that utopia we crave

truly comes from divine whispers,

meant to remind and inspire

though spiritual kisses upon our soul,

 

That we would know and cherish

the chance to craft what we see

into beauty or trash,

while remembering immortality

is where those of faith

will ever see a unblemished realm

forever called as home.