We were all just blank canvases
And God is the painter
He painted us
Each one a different shade of beautiful
The world is like an art gallery
Because we are all art

I want to ride the sky,
make believe
the stars are closing in on me,
and in so doing
become as them.

The glow from me,
a night light to some
off-world pier,
where children read
their storybooks untroubled.

An overhead visitor
to their lovely soul's dying wish,
the centrifugal force
keeping amusement park days
aligned with one another.

A tunnel at the end of the light,
cave of sweet
innocent dreams,
from which streams
of merry laughter emerge.

She's a meadow

of wilted flowers

once in bloom

but broke too soon

how quickly

the parched ground

devours

its own