Song of Peter Pan

My waterfall of spiral light hearing the pitter pat of endless night of rolling blue Danube thoroughfare junction flowing to the right of sequines' songbird function, Eye, the crescent moon ebbing and bulging in yr sight, can only wonder how you capture the Sun's fiery light... crying and can't pinpoint Y I think joy has overcome my reason to question why I've given up reading all those escapist books, for everything in mynd has been growing cold, the beer on my breath is stale and old fuzzy froth my beard, the hot chicky broth... Why do some choose separate doors to sleep behind and row away without oars? I prefer to play like children with kites and wind, to never grow up - to be a mountain, a bard and a friend to a juxtaposition of old animal lore; they speak to me when the adults have given me a bore, Why must things be "just so"? and more: the shiny silver the crystal, the green liquor bottles, the trial of gastritis inside romance novels, and why Eye continue crying as I write this soul a - spying, whimpering from the loss of someone I could not own, control, or boss, I finally respect myself again because now I can be my own friend, and You, my newbell and tinker whom I hve fallen for hook, line, and sinker a young fairy older than her daze exploring space, but following a personal sort of maze, I give you this ring of thee I sing unafraid but in proportion to yr fairy wing, I glow with persperation aside said proposition: Give us this day hour daily bread In hills of Valhala where waters' cold in head to start with ice dams fish hatcheries and the like, of trout flopping with orangegreen and streaking pike, of a Neverland straight on till morning my starlight in white, I'll pull down the silver streaking moon tonight and give you the collection of dust which you'll keep in a box of starlightening trust of these good intentions I send to You, morningafter fairy - within you I'll sleep...