They say only the anointed people got
the healing touch of the waters in the southern pacific coast of Neptune
the rest of us, dogpaddling in neck deep liquid methane with a dab of menthol for minty freshness
purple whispers from yesteryear:
“Stop polluting me!
I just want to live!”
a choir of doves harmonize in tandem with the rise of the sun
the beams caressing all within reach
When the anointed return to the ‘Tune
where does the leave the rest of us
or better yet, how?
a power structure of purple translucency built upon the
values of the sunkissed majority
I’ll write the whispers on the walls so it won’t be forgotten
& if I come back as a human
I hope it will be more than just a fantasy by then