Dreambound

What's real, and what's only a dream? Alone, confined within his prison, the man sits, his back slouched and his arm raised. In his hand, a paintbrush. A weapon in his eyes, perhaps. A tool that could create something from nothing. Waves crash onto the white shores. The night sky reflects back on itself, a sea of stars amidst the swirling currents. All is calm, yet not. But, as it were, that…