Another 4 in the morning. It is a harder night for me and I have already woken up many times. I just feel like doing a drawing. This time I use the watercolors. It goes pretty fast till get the feeling that I have to stop.
Its power is ending
I collect some words and go back to bed. In the morning, before everything else the poem is made, and later a few touchups are added:
The group
Of sharp, short and spiky actors
Is growing small.
They have no more
Long term power.
This happened once and now it’s gone
Disappearing at the horizon
Like an ancient script
That tells of killings
And of horrors.
They were beautiful to tell
With heroes and villains
But we have to live
A different life
Now.
intuitiveflow 
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