William Barnhill

Endless dreaming of this place is just a way that time is passed;
In the dream trees grow very tall beside a river deep and wide;
On its banks the jungle echoes with sounds of nature.
In the dream small people of the forest play along it's fringes;
Melding within the glow of a golden sun;
Birds fly in vespers rays of silver mist;
Howls from primates echo over eden.

Endless wondering in this place is just a way that life is passed.
A river flows from the far heights of sacred mountains, taking humble start;
In the form of rain drops blown a thousand miles;
Falling upon an Andean crest;
Beginning as a trickle and than a gush;
Cutting its crystal mark through dark stoned bushy crags and foothills curving face;
Racing to the jungle plains of steamy emerald vines,
bright colored flowers and jade colored leaves hanging from tall onyx trunks.
Black sparrows and multi colored Macaws glide above green canopies; a jaguar
hunts its prey masked in stealthy silence, betrayed from the tree tops by squawks
and cries of vigilant creatures.

The place of endless dreaming haunts my thoughts with smells of
wild orchid and fig; warm shadows creep and fall, creating the illusion
of a ghostly jungle troop dancing to a music not revealed by normal means.
A storm is forecast in the air with heaviness of humid heat, dark
clouds will block the sun, grinding jerks of light and guttural
reports of thunder will herald this days conclusion. Wispy fingers
reaching down from massing cumuli, touching ancient stone
spire's upon the distant mountains.

Time may pass, be it so cruel to all living things, the great limbs of the forest
may someday fall to the devises of humans; the river may be blocked by the
progress
of best intentions and as all that has been, surrender to the intelligent ape.
But for all of this the dream will go on in every thought that
whispers of beautiful days of boundless light, deep waters and impermeable
darkness that
guard the boundaries in the place of endless dreaming.