A taken picture, attempted, failed
Called but a dream
What then comes of it…
After the fact?
My focus, my heart, perhaps the subject

My dark room, my only solace
As dozens of times I’ve tried
Birthed a masterpiece
One to never be named

If only I could do it justice,
This monotone imitation, nothing but an insult
The colors I saw, the beauty, the stone
The water so crisp, as it, drawn to the clouds,
Heavenly fair,

What was that place?
The one I saw…
Above the clouds…

A floating city, lost to age
Yet still,
She, there, as a bird, caged
Alone there, in the tallest tower of ivory stone
The last remnant, captured thus in monotone

To find again what took me years
Would take yet all I have
More than worth it’s weight in gold
To set foot upon that ivory stone

Just a name, that’s all I ask
As all that is from that flash
Ivory stone, and water crisp
Monotone, a name?
Indeed, but from her lips


This poem is about: 
Our world


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