I daydream in colors

I daydream in colors sometimes:
Like a giant brush painting
Across the insides of my eyelids.
If these colors take shape, they are
Mostly landscapes, not fantastical
But still fantastic for having
Never existed outside my mind.
Forests of green against dark gray or
Vast oceans of blues
Mixed with grays and greens and browns.
Swaths of poppy orange and vistas
Of glistening white.
Only rarely a portrait will appear -
In complete and vivid detail -
Of someone I will never meet,
Or would be quite surprised
If I ever did!

Yes, sometimes colors form my daydreams, but
Sometimes sounds:
Entire symphonies
Only I can hear. Only I
Will ever hear. A lone note
Developes into a melody
Meets a counter-melody played
By a different instrument and all
Eventually swell until the sound is
Complex and almost, but not quite
Overhelming. Encompassing may be
The better word.
I do not have the skills to write
This music no one else will hear;
I did not even know the terms;
I tried to look them up, and was galled
the author gave a short example
Of a rondo in written form!
There may sometimes be a cadance
To my poetry, but symphonic?!

Still other times my daydreams do
Venture into the fantastical, spinning out
From what I imagine to be
The infinite possibilities of existing.
I am fond of saying that
Time is a human convention: without it,
Instead of one damn thing after another,
It would be every damn thing all at once.
But everything glorious and wonderful, too -
Why not think on these things?
Somewhere, in some existence,
I paint that mural, meet
The mysterious person from the portrait,
Hear the sweet sound of an audience
Applauding my symphony.

As I return to work
A minute later, I feel a strange sense
Of satisfaction. It can be enough
To know it all exists somewhere
Even if that somewhere -
Perhaps, especially because -
That somewhere is I.

— Zachary