There are pictures in your eyes
That you haven't seen
Expanses of colour
- tender landscapes
of dots, blurred drizzles and scratches
Slurred impressions
Of what you think is true
But then, what is Truth?
What is Love?
What is Art?

Chase migrant thoughts.

Or stay here
Now!
Cause you will lose your flight
To yet another memory
You will lose your moment
To private re-enactment
Of precious minutes gone.
You will lose yourself
To a dispensable idea yet again

And miss
The pictures in your eyes
That you haven't seen.