There’s little joy in life for me,
And little terror in the grave;
I’ve lived the parting hour to see
Of one I would have died to save.

Calmly to watch the failing breath,
Wishing each sigh might be the last;
Longing to see the shade of death
O’er those belovèd features cast.

The cloud, the stillness that must part
The darling of my life from me;
And then to thank God from my heart,
To thank Him well and fervently;

Although I knew that we had lost
The hope and glory of our life;
And now, benighted, tempest-tossed,
Must bear alone the weary strife.

The man was truly strange
Hiding cards behind his clever fingers
Cleverer than me.

He winked down my hood
And laughed
Who he was was not important

In the circus tent
Nothing held power like the cards
And he said

'I deal in cream and grey,
Put a cross in my hand and
I am what you say I am.'

And now he has a roguish smile
His feet turned up and
The bell rang

I put down the pencil
And he froze
Never to move again

He dealt in cream and grey
He delved in graphite and imprints
Nobody told him otherwise.

I can't stop drawing her
Though the ink stutters from my pen
Are no form of the lines of her face
She humbly takes them anyway.

She has no place in my eyes
But for the gentle push of her petal hands
On my page, while I sit and
Let my mind take the toll.

The still morning is pulled in
Or the night claiming the light
But I am still here
Drawing her,

Her poise
Her smile
Her attentive eyes
And the knowing, the truth

It's with her every time.

Art
Simple art
Abstract art
Personal art

Expressed in different ways
Some write songs
For the feelings that sing along
Some dances with the beat
And tries to pull the crowds with it

Music it is
Music's your only friend when you feel alone in a crowd
In a party, in won't be fun without
But sometimes the person whom we think we can trust
Can be a traitor and start acting so unjust

Music can be two-faced
Hurt you in the time of sicked-age
Pain will blow up inside you
It won't stop until you decided to think it through

Drawing, painting, building
A bird, a sea, a tree
Anything that kicks from the inside
Would want to be expressed in an artist's mind
You've no choice but to let it go
Cause sometimes, it is the only choice you know

Writing is the simplest and the thorough
It completes all the art show
Can't be understand by the narrow-minded
Can be the escape of the one who's interested

Takes time but worth it
Especially if the message conveyed is at its peak

I can draw different pictures ,but                                                                               From where should I start ?                                                                                      I can draw with a pencil                                                                                              As a reminder that I can do something ...                                                                  I can draw pictures ,but                                                                                              In my mind this time ...                                                                                              I can draw with my eyes ,but                                                                                     Through different sights ...                                                                                         My drawings vary from                                                                                             One thing to another ...

I got a tattoo last night
Did it myself, all needles and ink
Sterile like the bathroom floor
And wet rags dyed black and pink

It was a little picture of a house
Sitting on top of my left hip
Pinpricks of ink pushed into my skin
And not once did I let the needle slip

She drew on her hands
Pictures I didn't understand
She wrote on her hands
Pieces that didn't make sense
But to her, skin was her canvas
Her ink flowed better
Then ever on paper
She put her thoughts on her hand
Yet I never understand

I can my image on the water                                                                                   Of that running creek together                                                                               With that pretty image of the pretty moon anytime ...                                        Drawing a picture on waters is not                                                                        Difficult and is not easy ,but                                                                                   You need to be a natural artist ...                                                                            I can some images of my childhood                                                                       On that deep well over there ...                                                                               I can draw a pretty image of my happiness and                                                  My sadness on the sea's surface ...                                                                     I love to draw all images of those                                                                      Who passed away a long,long time ago ...                                                        I can do a lot of things                                                                                         On the water's surface ...                                                                                     ____________________

I thought I forgot you
I thought I long had you buried
Deep in my memory.
I thought you could no longer haunt me
Like you used to do so often.
I thought I got over you
Until your eyes met mine today,
Once or twice at most and that was about it.

I couldn't look at you,
I couldn't look at you without bursting into tears,
So I burst into laughter instead.
And I suppose that you saw through my fake act.
Anyway...

You were there in your corner,
There in your pedestal,
There in your elegance
Drawing something dangerously beautiful
And you were beautifully dangerous.
And I,
I could only watch you from a distance
And learn to admire you
Without touching you,
Without kissing you,
Or ******* you.

We exchanged a conversation
About random things
You know, like
How it took me about an hour
To take a proper picture of the cat you gave me,
How it tragically died,
How I didn't cry when it died...
But I actually did cry when it died...

You looked all right, seriously.
There in your peaceful world
That I no longer was part of.
There in your artistic mind,
There in your capacity to forget,
There in your tendency to break promises,
There in the awful effect you always have on me.

So you said goodbye
Because you had something to go back to.
I said goodbye
Even though I had nothing to go back to.

We parted ways once again,
Me with your drawing pencil in my bag
And you, you my dear, with a piece of me
Inside your pocket.

I remember you once said forever, but you only lied.
I went home,
I went home and cried.


-- Eleanor