The ocean is blue,
the hills are green,
and on the shores,
an enormous machine.
A complex machine that stretches for miles,
it's speckled with funnels,
where we pour our dreams.
they roll around in circles,
into the vortex to vibrate down the pipe.
The pipe which splits dreams like nickels and dimes.
Some dreams create hope,
while hope drives creation and drive,
and pushes us on when we want to despair.
Hope allows us to love.
Love based on nothing but belief.
Then some dreams inflict fear,
fear of throwing up bricks,
and that sick feeling in your stomach.
Fear makes us hate.
Hate based on nothing but belief.
gears are turning,
and belts are running flywheels,
while echoes vibrate through the rusty barrels.
Copyright 2006, Daniel Strack
(c) Copyright 2006, Daniel Strack