A field,
Empty of all but us.
Lying on our backs fallen in a wild race
And laughing so hard.
A joyous sound to be heard,
When living with nature away from the future.
And we talk, you of the things of the sea,
And I of the ring around the dead end orb.
Which confuses you,
But that's nothing new when it comes to me.
The moon,
I explain, is a prognostication of death,
If it is surrounded by a ring of light
Or so I've been told.
But Halos are a presage of good to come.
So which is it?
You never ask but I know you wonder.
And I shrug,
While you continue on your talk of coral,
Unaware of the Fyrflies,
Of course you cannot see them, but I can.
They intertwine our fingers, and disappear,
Having never really been there,
It grows silent,
And I,
Thinking I've over stepped my bounds
Rise to walk back to the car,
To fall asleep in the confines of it's cage.
Then I blink, and all this is gone,
I'm just sitting with my coke in my hand,
Sadly thinking of what I would do
In a field with you for all hours of the night,
As I continue in my,
Soda pop suicide
