you'd think I didn't care
or that I'd lost my flair
Or perhaps my sadness
got lost within my madness
or that I didn't love
or had arisen far above
my intense desire for rest
the kind I'd find in death
Shall I invest my cries
in a pair of hazel eyes
that look but do not see
the"who" inside of "me"
to nurture my delusions
soft velvet my illusions
and take what inspiration
can be found in fair creation
to see what I can do
in the sacred name of you
to put my pen to paper
and perhaps I"ll paint you later
I still have so far to go
and you don't even know
about the energy I've invested
in the throes of life arrested
or am I at the end?
Have I met all my friends?
Or do I have a reason
to anticipate the season
that begins on Hallow'ed ground
with a pilgrimage profound
my exotic occupation
my silly-girl pre-occupation
And I could just change the station
I could seek some mediation
My obsession is my joy
Art is all about the Boy.