The moral of the story

 
The art in breathing fades
just a little more with every sun

waking on an isolated mountainside
where the wind might just drown a conscience
perhaps that's the place
that the ignorant lead the blind towards
claiming the arms of faith
will lull them into a peaceful state of mind
where every night the colour is renewed

If every man slept soundly
a blade under the bed could be the ocean
that flows around every island
and that's a sleeping draught fit for any king
but that analogy defies logic
that much stone would part the seas

and the blind would lead the ignorant
on a search for something that lasts forever
then who would do the painting?