he naked canvas in hiding,
Waiting to be clad
By the artist's strokes

The desolate stone
Waiting in waste to come alive
By the sculptor's chisel

A song awakening from slumber
In the heart of the poet
Yearning to be sung

The inner vision
On the soul's horizon

The Dreamer. I am the dreamer
In my own personal search
For the fire the spirit alone
Can kindle.


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