My love, don’t die
My young mind reveled in imagining dinosaurs to life,
sparkling star-scapes in watercolor,
crystal oceans unfolding beyond my bedposts.
Playing for hours, the forest my domain
away from rational thoughts.
Then I grew
through expectations, and doubts..
a prisoner with walls rising about
the bars narrowing by the day.
My mind working on naught
But a million better possibilities
ever-basting itself in sticky regret.
Broken recursions of ‘what if’?
A destiny chained in neurotic providence.
The artist knows well the pained barrier
between his mind and hand,
Dancing beauty in a lover’s eyes
brought into watercolor
Bony fingers, a wooden brush
and stark effort.
And then I paint you,
your wide arms taking this world in embrace.
Together we lived out this dream,
never afraid of the next day,
never imagining another destiny.
I would toil my brush at every star,
conduct a symphony of crickets,
plucked with my fingers by piece,
So that you might have a good night's sleep.
And I would read to your innocent ears,
in such a way that you might know
the truest blanket of my soul.