A picture of something unseen.
An ancient mystery in between.
Silent colors,
And brightening others.
A world distant from what is believable,
But wholeheartedly achievable.
Scribbles on a wall,
A moment drawn in time,
A telegram so divine.
Scribbles that speak
Thousands of words,
Hoards and hoards
Of secrets left untold.
In those scribbles,
A story of what could have been,
What could have seen,
What could be me.
Those scribbles are a world
Of wonder and surprise,
Hidden from the adult eyes.
Through the eyes of the small artists',
A world unseen,
The fate of what could have been.
YOU ARE READING
As Time Slows Around Us [Poetry]
PoetryAs complicated as time itself, like the silent conversations with the moon and sun, lie the complexity of the screaming but silent thoughts of the stars. "All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." ...
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