Like first time seeing stars in skies free of city lights.
Like late summer sun reflected golden in lake waves.
The light I see in you, through your eyes, right behind your face.
Through states or circumstance, that will make it feel afar.
I see golden lights, the dream, that defines who you are.
You have such stories, but no paper. Forced to make it from scratch.
While knowing the perspectives of the world that only you can catch.
I see fierce beauty in your bleak depiction of reality.
Disillusionment and disappointment,
because you know what reality was supposed to be.
At night you are a paper maker, while humming horrors of the world.
Words yearning for a canvas, with impatience, needing to be heard.
Words of night time skies, making paper makes you glow.
Dancing to the melody of light, in duet with your own shadow.
Because the world is clear to you, you make others see it too.
With such excitement, I just wait. I can see the future thanks to you.
A day of paper, you write light, for everyone to see. Your art.
The light I see through your eyes, right behind your face,
that defines who you are.