Paint a picture for me
Paint me the night
Paint the world as you see it
Paint it with love

Paint for me your hopes
Paint your dreams intertwined
Paint the thing you want most
Paint the best you can

You've painted all you want
And all you see
Paint now what you have
And what you love

Now you've done that
Step back, take a look
What have you created?
A master piece of you.

But do not gaze long
Do not gaze often and dream
Instead put it away
Go pursue the dreams you've created.

Nothing is worse,
No nothing hurts
More than a dream
You do not pursue

We let the dancers dance,
The singers sing,
And The prayers pray.
We let the dreamers dream,
The hunters hunt,
And the fighters fight.
We let the sinners sin,
The painters paint,
And the players play.
So why don't we let the lovers love?

Across an ocean of canvas white
A stroke of beauty comes to light
The patterns even, contrast, and fair
Complexity in the mind created with care

Do not allow a single smear
To blotch the canvas and make unclear
What blossoms made with hand and mind
What intricacies you will find

A root of commons grown within
of Artist and Gazer's ken
Now engrossed with personal thought
Through paintings on canvas, connection is sought.

Golden calm flows through me as the glittered dragonfly's frame and fairy wings buzz over pooled Monet oil.

"It is really beautiful up here" she whispered.

Her skin brightened in the glow of the fading masterpiece of crimsons, yellows, and golds the sun had brushed across the turquoise sky "This is it, this is what heaven is like."

I couldn't hear her, but I could read her soft spoken lips and study her face, which I always imagined as less of the cover to a book and more every word inside. There was not a greatness of a sadness that ceased to mask her portrait. She was all heart and soul, every bit of her.

I watched as her bright eyes change to become more glass than eyes. As if, for the first time, she was seeing life, love, and something more. Something so deep and beautiful that not even Hemmingway or Fitzgerald could even begin to put the prefix of it into thought.

Among the dusting of the clouds and transparent sunset I felt her heartbeat could silence and the lungs of which gave her the life I so cherished could empty turning her flesh a pale blue, and she would fade peacefully into the scene before me.

This very thought frightened me. Too soon would her feet touch the ground and nothing I was humanly capable of, or possibly godly capable of, would ever captivate and hold her so perfectly or turn her eyes as vivid - and there was nothing more I wanted.

You do not define my colors,
or how I see my
eyes in the mirror.
You don't pull the corset
laces to fit me into your
ideal waist size;
you don't take my brush and
smudge out my
imperfections.
I'll paint the sky and show
you who I really am.
I'll dip the brush onto my
tongue, write the words in the
clouds that I've wanted to
say since I could
formulate screams on my
baby lips.
I am not the sun,
but you are not the moon;
how can you hail
higher than I when you
are still standing on the
ground?
Can those who are
mighty sprout crowns from their
heads like a baby
bird grows the
feathers on its wings?
Do jewels fall from your
mouth like your voice is
worth more than
Mitus's gold?
Do the branches of the
trees fall to their
arches as you
pass them by?
If you are so, then
please,
take my hand and
paint me red with
all the
things you are that I'll
never be.

I would paint you a picture of us standing there in the pouring rain. You with your blue jeans and checkered shirt smiling while holding me close and telling me that you won't let go.

*If only I could paint.