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The future writes itself

In told stories

Of conscious thought

Those preferred are those

With the greenest of heart

No illusions

Of cosmic fusion

Clarity knocks

On no door

No bricks

No walls

Dancing in time

Rising with sunshine

With a winter cold

Follows a spicy summer

Gladiators of peace

Weave magic

Of secrets old

The cameleon grins

Paved with tradition

The river flows

With a gypsy band

Sat on its bank

And not one heart sank

An understanding of peace

Succeeding festivals

With permanent rest

Celebrated in sun

Rediscovering inevitable luck

No frustrated conflict

Just the smell of the cooking pot

As the future is told

A simmering heat

Soothes the stream

Of no illusion

No bricks

No walls