"Untitled #5
Anonymous
What do they call the sky when it turns green
From the rocket men in space suits trying to make it to Mars?
It will never be.
It will never exist.
It will never come.
While blanket-wrapped knowledge
Goes to waste
And pipe dreams are more real than the true story on the shelf
Can the daily morning paper be bought for a nickel anymore?
And the mirror on the wall says it will
Lies in reflection
Truth in reality
Beyond what I am allowed to comprehend
I am only allowed to know.
[Back to the Poetry Page]