Picasso wanted to weep, upon the colors of the stream,
He paints golden tears, reflecting from the sunlit dreams,
Mona Lisa steps upon them, they appear as stairs to light,
But as she falls down cheek, love's shadow a skybound flight,
Romeo forgot all about Juliet, did not drown her in poison,
Daggers keep a candle to night, but can't dim the eyes from sun
She bloomed like sunflowers, against a wallpaper peeling,
Van Gough's tears flood the pavement, attatched to lost feelings,
Out through windows Picasso stares, to nothing but a storm,
His hands against the glass, prayers don't keep his heart warm,
So he painted a dying flame, As if it were living at last,
And let it expire, Burning she loves me petals of the past
A man ponders before the flames, enclosing on his thoughts,
His hand waits to feel, her loving hand resting on top,
His eyes stare into distance, towards her eyes he wishes for,
Singing to an empty museum, Picasso stares down to the floor,
He's in the middle of galleries, surrounded by a past he knew,
Picasso holds out flower stems, grab the heart he keeps for you
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment