By Dane Smith-Johnsen
My beautiful, colorful place, God and nature walk hand in hand.
Above clouds and trees, souls sometimes soar for a glimpse at heaven’s door.
Then, back they fall to bask in light amid shaded flowers galore.
I dream of a walk in Paris down a street lined with artists’ work,
Prominent vibrant painting places where views will connoisseurs perk.
Along those streets of smooth cobblestone green moss grows between the cracks.
The artists’ paint serenely strokes street scenes; swarms gather at their backs.
I dream of a distant patron with interest in my arts’ success,
Whose guiding help fortifies my world and eliminates distress.
Someone out there with marketing flare that someone who really cares.
And brings my dreams across the gap between raw talent and luminaries.
I dream this dream that many others dream throughout artistic groups.
But here I am with heartfelt dreams afraid to jump through any hoops.
This is a fantasy poem with real hopes. Although it is more self oriented than I usually care to be, it is a sincere dream. So, I posted it. It is a very heartfelt personal poem.