i don't know why i made you my air
cause now all i breath in is despair
why did we waste each others time
making our hearts believe, knowing its emotional crime
knowing deep down it would fail
but still chasing like a dog with it's tail

fate knew we would never work out
but we ignored it ,out and about
so in love we didn't need reason
our hearts performing treason
playing with our emotions
giving our deepest devotion
we knew what would happen yet we played
oh the beautiful memories we made

then your heart knew this distance was impossible
i was the one, my heart irresponsible
my mind in the cloud till you told the truth
but alas we are in our youth
distance and age was the cause
ripping my heart out with it claws

but it was weird when you said "this isn't working" that it really made me smile
cause we both knew that this would fail, calculate the miles
no tears left to cry
emotions are but dry
and just like ice melts in the rain
sometimes love turns to pain

On my walls hang two pieces of art;
large canvases boldly splashed
with colour, stroke upon stroke formed vivid arcs.

I wish I had kept my father's paintbrushes,
they were tools of masterpieces.
From them, my strokes could have made faces flush
and inspired songs and poetry; love?

*
But, perhaps ‘twas a blessing to create with unique expression and freedom.

Poised quill in hand,
Tip in the ink-well dipped,
Page by turned page,
Words paint a picture,
Stories unfold,
Imagination unleashed.

Cleaned brush in hand,
Bristles mixing colors,
Hues emerge upon the palette,
Strokes create a story,
An image takes shape,
Imagination into a masterpiece.

Sharpened pencil in hand,
Sketching upon the tablet,
Circles and lines create form,
Fingers smudge lines,
Subject unveiled,
Imagination into portrait.

Ink pen in hand,
Page filled with lines,
Time and key,
Notes create a melody,
Score of emotion,
Imagination of music.

The artists are unbound,
Author of fueled stories,
Painter of fueled images,
Illustrator of fueled portraits,
Composer of fueled music,
Artists with one commonality,
Fueled by the Power of Imagination.

Sometimes I catch myself feeling guilty for not wishing you a happy birthday.

But then I remember all the years that I waited for you on my birthday. Too drunk, too high, too careless to remember.

Somehow I still feel guilty. But I swallow it down and move on with my life.