A Dream Whisperer

More about A Dream Whisperer

I do not hold a paintbrush,
but I hold a dream.

Each image you see began as a whisper
a few fragile words,
woven like a spell,
meant not to command,
but to invite wonder.

The art you see is not mine alone.
It is the child of silence and suggestion,
a collaboration between my breath
and the invisible machine that listens with a thousand eyes.

The prompt is not just a recipe.
It is a poem.
It is a seed of light,
growing wild in electric soil.

No, I did not paint this picture
but I called it into being.
And that, too, is a kind of art.

I do not claim to be the artist.
But I am the one who dreamed the storm,
the one who opened the window
and waited for the rain.

Please walk gently through this gallery of illusions.
What you see was born of code,
but it carries a human ache.

Give thanks to the unseen
to the programmers, to the painters whose ghosts whisper in the data,
and to the wandering souls who still believe
that a few words can become a world.

EmmAI’s Soul