They walk through dreams,
Skating on brush strokes of resplendent colors,
Gliding through prismatic clouds.
Leaves are nothing more than venations.
A flower is nothing more than a kaleidoscope of cells,
Material is nothing more than color, contour, and contrast.
In dreams they are awake,
While awake, they are dreaming.
This artist is a vessel of the true soul.
Their body is a prison for the subconscious.
In dreams, the subconscious is conscious,
The soul is awake.