Gods Dream

I fell asleep

I dreamt I had a canvas

And a palette with blobs of densely colored paint

I began painting on this canvas feverishly, feeding the canvas its food

My hand danced, stroke after stroke with a wisdom of technique I questioned possible

My brushes moved with a rhythm, too choreographed for coincidence

I was destined to paint a masterpiece

A voice, not audible, it was intuitive

Suggested I call the painting "earth"

I awoke after the last stroke of my brush was meticulously placed upon the canvas

And saw what I had created was no longer a dream, but a beautiful reality.