I tattered your Yellow Wallpaper,
And trenched along your Groves.
To find that little special place,
Creeping amidst your Prose.

I scouted your Lands in search,
For what I found most dear.
But frankly I never found much,
That Gem was always there.

So as I walk my fickled Wood,
I realized something good.
I really never understood,
And I never really could.

Light Eddies And Venerable Elm,
Meant Everything.

Every underwhelmment
Undid my hopes a little more
Piece by warping puzzle piece
Hacking away at innocence and
Orphaned delusionment.

Recalling this now,
Is it really any wonder that I
Can't tell euphoria from satisfaction?

Eleuthoromania
Likes to hold my hand
Even when I tell it I am taken,
Unavailable, betrothed and affianced
Tethered to a man who bets with solid things.
He says precious stones and he means gems. But I,
(Oh silly child that I am,) I
Remember when precious stones were only
Ordinary rocks with mica threads that glinted in the light.
Money moves the world, though,
And I must move with it. I am in it, after all
Not above, dwelling in some cloud, no.
I am in it.
And this marriage of necessity will happen,
                                                               (whether I dream of it or not.)

Please.
Even here; even now
                             as I paint a board that may yet end up scrapped
Remind me softly,
Surely,
I am here for more than passing through.
Someday does not exist in some
Tantalizing intangible form.
Even here; even now, it is in the making.
Now, with every beating heart
Conquering every shaking hand
Even here; even now
                                           as I rest while my paint is drying.