Owl city

The Real World
On May 13th, 2011 by Adam
Young
I saw the autumn leaves peel
up off the street, take wing
on the balmy breeze and sweep
you off your feet. You blushed
as they scooped you up on
sugar maple wings, to gaze
down on the city below, ablaze
with wondrous things.
Downy feathers kiss your face
and flutter everywhere.
Reality is a lovely place but I
wouldn’t want to live there.
Weighed down by heavy lids
and lunar lullabies, I knew you
were wide awake because you
smile with your eyes.
Downy feathers kiss your face
and flutter everywhere.
Reality is a lovely place but I
wouldn’t want to live there.
From the green belt balcony,
the wildfires look so pretty.
Ponderosa canopy, I’d never
leave if it were up to me. To
the ruby redwood tree, and to
the velvet climbing ivy:
painted all mahogany, I’d
never leave if it were up to
me.
With a starry brush, paint
the dusk venetian blue,
because in the evening hush,
you’ll never believe the view.
And when the leaves return
and their whisperings fill the
night, they’ll freeze and burn
where fire and ice collide.
Can you feel a silk embrace in
the satin air? If we dissolve
without a trace, will the real
world even care? Downy
feathers kiss your face and
flutter everywhere. Reality is
a lovely place but I wouldn’t
want to live there.
The twilight deepens and the
city is suddenly ablaze with
shimmery enchantment. It’s
getting dark but you’re still
chasing rainbows and I’m
rearranging lobby chairs on
the hotel patio. Across the
avenue, the garden carpet
peels up and sweeps you off
your feet, swinging you out
over the edge of the veranda
balcony, swirling and twirling
you through the eventide. I
look up and try not to smile
because I rather admire you.
I guess I just want to say
that if you ever need someone
to keep you company, I’ll be
right here.
Plant Life