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