The only thing cancer let him have control of was his mind.
From a distance,
The day light diluted in the seamless fusion,
Giving lights life as a canvas or small solo papers -
Abstracting symbolic sounds dancing with pieces of clouds,
While rustling voices.
It reminds itself of a camouflaged leaf in a tree on a very active day.
The seasons come and go as they please.
Even a mind has to get away sometimes.
Often he would hear a knock.
Then a squeeze through the window;
This story would tell him he's still alive.
Some nights he would run back to his mind.
The writer's eye color would paint a picture of lifeless eyes while saying to someone or something,'we never leave earth'...
The pair would then scope pages;
Words lying, articulating a language never known to him.
The pages mixed with pictures of a spattered but colorful confession to his classmate with big hazel eyes that checked him faster then a thousand of his mother's could.
Too young to care about the neck down,
He only saw the light mirroring night, shinning from the windows opening to her brand new easel waiting for nothing.
Before he left school that morning,
Their honesty blinded them from the sun,
Until the memory of five flowed through some of the light.
'We did it',
They whispered.
Every cell moved to his mind.
He blew away her tears until she could join him.

A young mother now listens to their music as she rocks her baby to a peaceful state,
Clutching her in her fur coat -
Smiling, saying
'my love for you is as eternal as the winds for they flow through earth and give us life'.