Morning

A storm of writing unleashed from the god overlooking the mountain. His hands and feet were bound to the sky and he burst forth clouds of verse and layered canyons of dream landscape, sculpted by the flowing hands of words tumbling together in sequence. His breath played through the sky with the yellow glow of an angel sun, a hazy halo floating through the cirrus breeze like a stream of half whispered sighing. The slow pulse of his heartbeat lulled him to sleep, softly sending powdered snow down to earth and encompassing the world in hushed white safety.

This time there was no slow rush of waves sliding up onto the sandy shore
rolling over bare feet like the calming waters of a heavenly world
And there were no sea shells echoing with the call of the deep
No half torn jellyfish washing onto the beach
For wayward kids to sting their skin upon in curiosity
No sleepy sky
or sprinkling rain
or the hungry call of seagulls on the wind

This time there was a new world. Fresh and unrevealed. Where the life-giving waters were now fields of grass stretching out for miles into the distance, unparalleled in soft green rollingness and not scratchy, grass you could roll through and feel like a tumble through down blankets or comforting fields of snow.  Where entropy could not pry with its chaotic decay and the scattered death of peaceful deer.  Where in this alien world deer were the friends and entropy was unheard of, forever removed and unable to touch the deep brown, moist soil of the earth or the smooth shine of the sun.
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What would we do?
if the layers of ivy did not cover the face of the hideout
sheltering it from the prying hands of thundering wind and the prying eyes of stray passerby
What would we do if the starry sky
was not as majestic and black?
Or if there were corners or edges
to the great blue sky
Or if snowcapped peaks of distant mountains
did not reign out on high
Or if church bells
clanging bright
did not ring out the jubilant day
Or if someone-
somewhere-
could take the rain or snow away

The world would be quiet
And not as full of life
But we would weave the ivy
And imagine the bells anew
We would find a way
to color in the sky
We would fight
to live our right
We would take it back