The shades of colors hidden with in the eyes.
A dreaming brush that sits and awaits the image.
An endless picture expands before the abyss,
Open to the air with no boundaries of blues.
Here amongst the folly of youth, lay the starts.
The makings of greatness that laid in stillness.
Ageless as time itself, powerful hopes,
The willfulness with so much impatient self.
The fine strings wrap to form the base,
Heedless of the danger, only open to the unknown.
The laughter echoing to resound against nothing,
Giving in to none, seeking for the infinite.
The greatest strength within the tiniest form,
Who knows no secrets, but is fully cryptic to the world.
A jolly, mirthfully little being, a wonder to in the making,
Still with in one's eyes, a child is still a child.
And what wonders and imaginations they embody,
Oh, what they can be, what they will be.
What colors will be displaced within the wings
Once the child puts his brush into motion among the white canvas.
