Trimming banquets of ice-ish tunnels of growth and decay,
Like swords and staves abound each day,
Like plenty I follow the whim of today,
Please help us all form a new day,
Easy come, easy go,
That's what the white-liner says as it goes,
For me to be free inside of my sea,
I'd often need a place to be
Momma you tried
to make a hero out of me:
a girl filled with flaws,
drenching in the heat of her pain.
I remember how you held my hands
and called me a prodigy.
And you were a timeless beauty
but there are times I have
failed you miserably.
Momma, tell me
what do you see when you look at the hills?
grasses, maybe, and flowers hastily done
but without it, you’d have no land to walk on.
You are to me likewise.
I can’t give you everything,
but I'll always be your child,
and I will adorn your life
like clouds do in the sky.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be your hero,
But I swear you will always be mine.
Stencil-streamed mud-clipped boots,
Eiffel tower disguise,
Brilliantly wrapped in a corona,
Of sadness and delight
Un-burdened I dance,
Stinging silently across,
Symposium of disaster they call,
You speak of as if it was betrothed to you alone,
Or some ghast faint reflection
Someday the purpose of creation,
will creatively in-twine, over
and over again
like cool mists of glee,
showers of gladness,
inside droplets of peace
Silencing call of passion,
When you talk of 1800's style vintage
Perception no-one knows, but when you see
Gross underwrites with turning phone dials
A part of you discovering you
Like a wheel chasing itself you laugh
Hradly suspicious of anything else
I hear the fragrance of Canada is
Calm except for the penal regrets
Of solemn senses