There, in a meadow of lush green vitality
The bald, gray men
Stood in the absence of their dreams
Like stone columns of regret rising from an emerald sea
They strive on as dim reminders of vibrant voids.
And away on the wind
Passions languidly soar,
As quiet parachutes of writhing ambition
Floating forcefully to the earth
In free fall, reeling from blows of rain, and smoggy gusts.
Or, they will purposefully flee
Planting themselves healthy
In far off fields of imagination
Landscapes of golden deception
Never remembering the bald men
Turning from gray to brown-
To black
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