Windows

Peeking over sleeping city.
Inside, painters drew windows
Of hells that demons would never visit—
Shadows caressed the canvas
With restless movements
Begging for life,

Views of heaven through the eyes of the earth bound—
Fluid colors swam through worlds of light,

Of wild dreams—
Winged creatures thrust against the wind,
Slicing through soft clouds,
Quivering through dark blue,
Thin greens,
Of savage visions and worlds
I would never see in this lifetime.

Even their bright clothes reflected the windows—
Colors floated across the material
Streaking the fabric
With the pallets of their imagination.
Years later, they vanished from their dwellings.
I wondered where they all went.

Perhaps they found a way to enter
The windows.

Windows

artofmyth

Joined August 2007

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

This poem come out of my childhood experience of growing upwith artists whom I would spend hours watching create fantastical worlds. When I went back to visit “The Village” as it was called, all remnents of it had disappeared except the houses, which had been turned into a civic center.

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