The Dreamer.

A thousand false starts;
He has a gift for exaggeration.
His fingers tremble and flicker;
And fresh lies appear

Awake yet asleep,
I alone am the painter;
painting quietly,
habitually,
incessantly.
My canvas is blank when you look upon it,
your

I am therefore I am

Beyond the halls of space and time,
Within the prisons of my mind,
Where hollow phantoms

+ FACE OF ETERNITY +

Looking into the rugged face of eternity,
Walking by this infinite land.
Trapped in violence of my fading

I am sipping sounds from the cup of conversation
They taste of tainted tears, and smell of strange sensation
I capriciously