silent pictures...

My dreams are my compass
They tell me no lies
They speak to me in pictures
A feast for the eyes

There’s a man painting on the side of the road
Fields of grain surround him and the wind touches all
I wonder where he came from, among these vast fields
For I see no signs of human life, in this place untouched by sprawl

Then I blink and am suddenly in London
Where people are bustling about
Across the street I see hints of the sea
I hurry through a park, determinedly
To get to that vision of blue and sand.
And when I reach the shore and stand
And let the waves wash over me
I look from right to left and left to right
And see no one, no one in sight.

I dream of beautiful places
Of sunsets and oceans and vast fields of grain
Of old buildings and churches that are showing their strain
The visions are lovely and stay in my mind
And so does the one thing that I always find
I’m alone in my dreams, not willing to share
These marvels of landscape and sea and air

I’m the one creating these fairylands
They exist to comfort and scare me
So why cry a river when I look around
and see
No other soul
but me?