A spectrum of vision, like ghosts, they're now faintest;
Only dry bones where vitality once flourished.
Written on blank pages that time has now vanished;
A dream book in color that age turned into dust.
Like a painting whose subject had quickly faded;
It was gone before the nighttime sky missed the sun.
I search my mind for dreams in hope it's not barren;
To one day relive them or find them still planted.
Kaleidoscopic colors float but pass by me;
I can view them, but like a rainbow, out of reach.
It now is smoke and fading colors that I see
And yet the need for one to dream, forever preach.
On the wings of dreams I sail with nighttime vision
And only in the light of day are they broken.
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