Canvas of My Sky

___

A quiet calm, sleep flows through my soul,

Past the worries and thoughts, a rest where I'm whole.

Suddenly serene – I glide through the air,

I am flying, not walking, and quietly there –

Just a whisper above the soft curve of the land,

With the hills stretching outward, in life's open hand.

...

Green hillsides beneath me, a painter's sweet dream,

Like sunlit waves in stillness, with a soft little gleam.

The sky is clear, an endless soft hue,

And the sun on my face feels familiar yet new.

These hills, oh these hills, they call to my soul,

Like the Flint Hills of Kansas, endless yet whole.

...

Heading south, always southward, a silent decree,

A vast, gentle freedom, eternally free.

This dream has returned, through decades and years,

A secret belonging – a feeling so near.

When I realize I'm dreaming, I continue in grace,

Relaxing, to see how long I can drift in this place.

...

Then one ordinary day, in a gallery's hush,

Past the vibrant, bold strokes, past the hurried, quick rush

Of canvases waiting, a presence took hold,

A story familiar, a moment of gold.

A landscape balanced, in colors so deep,

Held secrets I'd only seen while asleep.

...

My private dimension, the one where I fly,

On wonderful nights, only known in the sky.

The very same curves, the light on the grass,

The identical sweep of the sky as it passed.

My breath caught within me, a silent, soft gasp,

The dream made real, within my own grasp.

...

I knew in an instant, with clarity bright,

This piece of my dream belonged in my sight.

It now hangs in my place, providing me rest,

A portal of peace in my sweet little nest.

The dream on the wall, in pigments so fair,

My own rolling hills, forever right there.

___

(This poem is based on a true story and original poetry concept, written and improved upon with the assistance of Google Gemini, Grammarly and Lyla May.)