.
.
.
in the world that is to be -
i will run wild across fields of golden daffodils
so I can be poetry on a poet's mind
i will stand on the edge of a boat
in the middle of a forest
staring at sun beams through canopies
so I can be recollections of a portraitist's lens
i will look at a countryside
before sunrise, with nothing but the morning star
from the window of a place that will not be mine
so I can be foiled paints on a painter's canvas
and I will warn against the Greeks and their wooden horse
and let the wrath of a god come to me
so I can be suffering in a sculptor's portrayal -
but that world is yet to come
today-
i will look at the flowers stitched onto my crumpled bed sheet
i will stare at sun beams hitting the cobwebs on my ceiling
i will not look out my window to see concrete
and I will suffer
still
but no hand will mould a story to tell on it.
.
.
.
Picture credit - ig - @jianghu.e
