The Bench

Vantage point of dreams
screaming out in foliage visions,
nature's inviting throne of fancy,
imbibes the mind in wind chime magic.

Legions linger about this scenic point
of ghosts who stalk its splendor
specters from pioneer spirits
that left behind their thoughts
in the blustering breath of summer's gusts.

While the heart feels the sun against the face
and the soul drinks the calm thus enchanting,
something tugs upon the brain
a sense of being watch
while staring out at the inviting emerald majesty.

Unfamiliar words whisper their thoughts inside,
stirring images of faces never before seen,
serenity imbued with an uneasy flush
that in the solitude one is not truly alone.

An hawk appears in the skies,
circling as if searching for prey.
But the heart feels awkward for sense
it somehow is calling to claim your soul.
Then it leaves and you feel somehow drained,
before walking off towards ones car,
hoping the stories of visitors come into one's dreams
will not bring the rumored cringes to one's sleep.