Running into the blossoming beauty around,
Happiest with head, heart and all in the clouds,
Where dreaming and scheming all becomes one
And every scheme dies; ambition’s no fun.

Lost in a memory, a thought, any place,
That keeps out the voices; the many-faced,
Who beat at my conscious, so loud and so proud,
I don’t want them to matter; I usurp their crowns.

Treading like a fairy on tip-toe, in flight,
Escape’s not a luxury; letting go’s not a fight.
If we create our worlds, let’s stop feeling fried;
Let’s return to the quiet magic in our minds.