Evenings in a perfect world.
Why this Utopian vision?

Believe without pain
that somehow we're sane
enough to just
stumble on wisdom.

If my life had been
so lovely and plain,
what do you think
I'd have written

on evenings in a perfect world
with nothing but other's wisdom?

Would I have sought you
if I were living on sunny
days in the shade of my prison?

Would I have gone
beyond the walls
of my truth, to know you existed

on evenings in a perfect world
far from the one that I lived in?