In Dreams; in Illusions
Published in
1 min readApr 23, 2016
Through the lines that are scattered in a velvet cascade. Of nothing more than mnemonic strands. Oh, this wild and vivid portrait.
If you say it is rain, it is rain.
If you say it is tears, it is tears.
Oh, the power that grows in weary limbs and in between the branches of desire. For no one else, for no one else…
To be chosen, to be a painter of illusions.
If you say it is stars, it is stars.
If you say it is hope, it is hope.
Defined by this shining glare that can fill or leave empty, that can draw a contour from emotion’s shade to this world of chimerical creatures.
Look further, start running. Hold it close to your chest.
Warm and precious. A reminder.
And all that stays. That stays till sunlight bleeds into the land.
