Faded neon colored stars,

Paper cranes and Hot wheels cars,

Unicorns on window sils,

Dusty statues immobile til,

Chartreuse green the wood is dull,

The attic window is all full,

Full of knickknacks and galore,

Collecting memories, dust and more,

Porcelain, the little black girls,

Smiling smiles down at the world,

Sadness somehow fills this house,

Stirred with anger, fear and doubt,

But the koto is good although somewhat hazy,

Floating in the house, sucking in this lazy,

Dream, that koto creates,

All the pieces fit in place,

The black cadillac sits dead here,

Filled with things that seem so near,

But its actually afar,

Echoing still,

Retrieving the koto from the window sils,

All is quiet within these walls,

Dusty sunlight creeps in and calls,

Weeping for its owner gone,

Leaving all the blinds undrawn,

Calling for a person near,

To see the world through it's plastic mir,

I step in, into the light,

The koto lifts and then takes flight,

Against the current, over mey head,

The shadows are gone and sunlight then sheds,

It's golden gaze into the glass,

To see reality,

Finally,

At last.