In color I dream;
purple pastures of bedazzled fuchsia,
sprinkled dust glistens,
the chimerical meets reality,
while an owl tells timelessly,
and I control the plot.
There is something unordinary about this air,
it transport me where,
platinum skies release emerald teardrops.
On a quest to find the bottom in search of gold I run,
distant, by way of violet sun.
Hanging over the hilltop, I can see my arched array.
So I sail over orange grass fertilized from festive flowers,
and on tranquil sapphire breezes,
I kiss nature on the check, and lay hot in January’s snow.
I am chasing rainbows,
trying to make my flight
of three kites.
© LaRonda Moore