Just sitting at the computer
The sun shines out
over peacful, rolling hills
and fields of growing flowers.
The green grass dotted with
splotches or red, yellow,
pink, an assorted colors.
The man walks along the
the hillsides, gazing at them
as if paintings in some metropolitan museam.
The climbing mountains reach
for the sky, laced with rivers and streams
washing away the dirt and soal.
An animal here, an animal there,
he watches nature's birth and decay.
And nature watches his birth and decay.
All of these cratures painted, blended in
creating a perfect land where ghost
long thought to be forgotten freely roam.
A grand little place, to
his eyes. A glorious Heaven in
the fool's mind.
The birth of Nirvana,
the continued constuction of Eldorado,
on the ever present graveyard of forgotten beauty.
A wonderful little paradise,
a tranquil resting place for the soul,
all of this oozing from his injury.
The garden of Eden,
a lonely darkened coma,
born from his own misery.
He created Eldorado's temples, working each stone
hand by hand. But only he can see
his religion lying behind his closed eyes.
[This message has been edited by Effigy (edited 11-27-2000).]