"The Crowd"

This poem is more about getting into the visuals more than any particular meaning.

I dreamed a great crowd up, one afternoon, And I painted them all smiles. I painted them all cheers, And stylish, so very loud. I painted her face in yellow tiles, with bright red lips. He was waving a balloon. Blue. They hallooed and they bravoed Though the show had not yet begun. She wanted an encore. He standing Ovated. God Himself chuckled To see Such a thing. He was given a calf skin wallet. She wears A vegan teeshirt, 100% cotton. I like him blond and her a brunette. It is midnight, with billions of noonday suns shining Down a hundred days every second. It is raining, one could have hoped, though they Would be invariably disappointed. The crowd stretches all the way to Mars, passing Right past next week. They cheer and they scream and they want To laugh fears away. He is afraid of success. She is afraid Of asking. He is a painter. She likes oiled things. He is self-obsessed, she likes to doodle Crayons on mirrors. It is a match in heaven, I made my crowd dance. He foxtrotted her waltz. I made them listen. To each other, mostly. I could never keep them all together, too large for me. I gave them whiting on a bit of rye, It took eternity to feed them all. I gave them brochures and I rode their shoulders and I gave them Letters home, addressed and self-stamped. Pre-written. Quietly. I dreamed a great crowd sometime earlier, Under the flag of a billion constellated suns, And starset came soon enough, the veil of bright. My crowd washed away. Leaving behind the most Indiscernible Things. He smelled of chocolate. She had a tattoo of red rasberries. Had a funny sigh.

This poem written by W. Doug Bolden.

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"The hidden is greater than the seen."