The Artist Paints His Dreams by Philip Day At night, on the canvas of his mind,
The artist paints his dreams.
The golden hue of the sun,
The deep blue of the ocean.
Colours and textures, imagined.
They will never see morning.
As he lies in deep slumber,
The colours blend,
Creating more vivid dreams.
These portraits of the night,
Come deep from his soul,
He dreams of raging storms,
Of fire and water,
Of heaven and hell,
His masterpiece takes form.
Let him dream,
For only dreamers paint the sky,
At night he creates
Perfecting his art,
With a silent promise
To awake by morning
Let him dream,
For he is an artist
And at night he paints his dreams.
The Artist Paints His Dreams by Philip Day
At night, on the canvas of his mind,
The artist paints his dreams.
The golden hue of the sun,
The deep blue of the ocean.
Colours and textures, imagined.
They will never see morning.
As he lies in deep slumber,
The colours blend,
Creating more vivid dreams.
These portraits of the night,
Come deep from his soul,
He dreams of raging storms,
Of fire and water,
Of heaven and hell,
His masterpiece takes form.
Let him dream,
For only dreamers paint the sky,
At night he creates
Perfecting his art,
With a silent promise
To awake by morning
Let him dream,
For he is an artist
And at night he paints his dreams.