No rest for the Vivid

The ones drowning in dreams

The ones weaving skies out of sorrowful screams

The ones wringing new colors out of old rusty blood

The ones stepping up above the world’s violent flood

The ones shaping stars out of blue icy tears

The ones chewing and spitting out everyone’s fears

The conquerors, the rebels, the ones crossing the line

Somehow standing untouched by the passage of time

Not just the heroes of stories

But the authors too

The ones lost in the crowd

Between many and few.