Magical Trip

there is a sacred place,
to escape reality,
where the conscious mind sleeps,
and the verdant imagination runs wild.

it is filled to the brim with puffy squids,
who worm their bodies along a barren jungle floor,
once gleaming with a vibrant hazel color,
now singed black from the volcanoes magma.

a myriad of hawks swim in the ocean,
feathers ruffling through the emerald green water,
golden crowns cowl their spotted heads,
for they are the kings of this land.

pirates toil near the banks of a loch,
tirelessly milling wheat plants,
all the while singing an aria of sorrow,
rapt with thoughts of what could have been.