Your Easel Has A Symphony

Mother, did i steal those shoes in which you used to dance?

left alone in shock before you captured sweet romance?

The pavement,lost, between those shouts,

of lateness and dissaproval

your life a shock of untold lust

and misguided sweet removal.

And if i could, though sixteen sweet years later.

I'd give you back your brush in hand and crisp white sheet of paper

Paint me the picture of your life,

untold, by what should have been? and how?

do you plan to build it up again, with what you feel right now?

I am the canvas neatly tucked inside your artistic mental casket

your dreams and sorrows washed away by my baby casket,

I know you dont regret me no, but i see it in your eyes

you want to feel the waves, the shore, to taste the pink sunrise.

So mother dear, i let you go

to dance away your life.

Sweet symphonies of promise love still dance inside your ear

i feel them still, lurking there,i see them when your near.

And all the time we've spent, ive seen it on your lips

i stole your easal, took your tango

but i now return it pronto

heres your polka dot bright red heals mother, try them on for size;

I told you they still fit you, you just didn't realise.

.