A winter night gently kisses its strokes,
Stars and moons amongst the clearest of skies,
The wise rise around the flames with their folks,
As a fading light drips upon their eyes.
A burst of oil in which lies their stories,
The scent of orchids roaming like a dream,
‘Til dawn aside are their dovelike worries,
The canvas catches a glimpse of the steam.
But in the daytime the blaze will be soaked,
And their soul will fall into the sheer clouds,
As they know not that they will be oh shocked,
When guns and screams will settle in the crowd.
Today we find those paintings in our land,
The tales of the dreamers written by hand.
Originally Published in Vol. 47 Issue 9 on February 21st, 2018