The canvas tonight was beautiful.
Its frame was golden,
Old and ancient,
Looking as real as it could be.
The sky spun a gradient,
Rising pinks transforming into blues,
Shifting into the galaxy.
I gaze into this frame from where the lighting falls,
The call to prayer resonates from moments ago.
The breeze sweeps on by,
And everything becomes quiet again.
That’s when I look closer at the painting.
I find the charming moon smiling down on me.
I feel exhilarated.
My heart races as I watch in wonder.
I shake my head,
Because I have to wake up,
To get back to what is real.
And the real place echoes with voices,
Ceiling fans rotate,
Papers shuffle and conceptual thoughts lurk.
The painting was a sweeter reality.
Unfortunately, one can only escape,
To those departures framed in the sky.
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