What are dreams made of?

 

A blank canvas,
lay still in his mind.
A dark alley
yet to be explored.

The guitar called him, to sing to him.
As if the notes mumbled,
Whispering secrets to him.

Paint brushes kept dry for a while,
thinking they had gone worthless and docile.

Through starry ramifications,
he dealt his life with…
Food was yet to be sprinkled with some herbs…

Then,
the words crept out of him…

He asked,
“What are dreams made of?”

I'm part of Post A Day 2017

PS: I would love to see your interpretations of dreams in the comments 🙂
I wish to write a series out of this…
YOUR FEEDBACK WILL BE MUCH APPRECIATED …
THANKS…

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