A sky of painted rain from custard yellow clouds, fell beyond my gallery window glass.
The grass a silken thread of cinnamon fire, vermillion and orange tea brewed strong and hot, which ran to choppy rivers damson plum and vintage flowing wine, stretched far beyond my own imagining to boiling seas of unknown hue.
Did a morning ever dawn which held such colour and such light, If so it isn’t one I ever knew!
I wondered what it would be like to wake up in an abstract painting
If we take that one step, which swallows both our pride and worry of embarrassment, That one step of me grabbing your arm while you passed, or you clutching at mine as my face is painted on the pavement, would everything be resolved? or would only more hateful words be spoken? Years later I still cant be sure of our end.
REM moments are where dreams begin under the eye-lids the activity pulses with movement all that's seen is quite extraordinary you're climbing an unconquerable mountain and the ascent is so effortless nothing hampering what you've always had in mind this vision so live like all your night imaginings materialize
men and women over the ages have bought their dreams to fruition the first step originated in nocturnal reverie as they strove forward on successes golden road
yep them dreamers of the REM set achieving much through accessing the mind's phantasmagorical corridors