A place deep down in memory

A place where time has stopped

That spring day

So long ago

I remember

The land was an artist’s palette of color

.

There in that memory

It happens

A change

A ripple

The land of what could be fills up my picture of yesterday

Taking my place for Utopia

Giving me a new manufactured dream

A new ideal

Something else to strive for

The best possible land

.

But what is wrong with my idea of perfection

Why must people strive to change it

Make it the same as theirs

.

Everyone is different

And so is their idea of beauty

Of perfection

Of Utopia

So why try to conform them

Making everyone all one shape

If you try to do that

Then Utopia will really be

“No Land”

.

The land you make will be

“Your Land”

Not my land

Not my dream

Not my Utopia