Note to self

Note to self

Illusion is found in the most obvious of places
It's how our mind is sketched to the concrete conclusion
That its chaos is dark
Gloomy and freakishly lonely

A world that is dreaded to be explored
In the wake of night
Although it is the only destination available for travel
To reach the waiting hand of slumber and dreams

Dear Self, the artistry of the stream lines of thoughts
Are scattered like a museum so big
Cosmos themselves scorn in envy

The vast beauty of memories paint our experiences
In colorful attire, some brighter than others
In show-off allure and vibrance in abundance
You see... those ones hold the pedestal of desire

We've dragged those with depths of deep color
Inked them with rudimentary titles and
Perspectives that stay afloat on the surface

Dear Self, the conclusion should be
That your mind is a Runway of fierce art
Tailor made for the figure of your character
That struts in confidence and power

So, fellow mate
The journey to the waiting hand of slumber and dreams
Has always been first class certified
When you admire your art through the eye of adoration
For how far you've come