A Starry Dreamland

It’s midnight, past the witching hour,

Wistful and weary,

Only the stars can shine with that power,

The swirling spirits are getting teary,

The crescent glimmers in the blue,

Quite an evening for the town folk,

The stars gleam a shimmering hue,

Yet appears not a single bloke,

The hills are swept away by the splendour,

The bushy bushes creep in,

Depression that one can’t endure,

Darkness that shines from within,

Every stroke is a path,

Paths for colours to walk down,

Every etch is an aftermath,

Effects of a low-laying town,

There lies the stunted cypress tree,

Infused into a tranquil ombre,

Black as night, wild and free,

Like the flames of a fire in sombre,

Pirouetting into the dark,

Circling through the moonlit haze,

Every candescent soul has a spark,

Don’t wake me if I’m in a daze,

Every time I peer into the landscape,

There’s luculent stars in my eyes,

As the deep shades of indigo drape,

This is where Vincent reached his bliss in the skies,

This is The Starry Night,

‘Looking at the stars always makes me dream’,

This is where imagination takes flight,

A land brought to life by a color scheme.