When I was a child, images in my mind
Drifted above me like clouds in the sky,

Swirls of abstract colors brushed onto white paper
Made the visually vague patterns become real

How do I get there from here?

I go where one must
From deep inside I travel
Across canvasses that hold the past, present, and future
I follow the words of those who speak silently
Letting me know the next dawn is upon me
But the night is not quiet.
It screams with the pain of those lost,
Who can return but cannot speak of where they are going
Because they do not know where they have been

How did I get here from there?