I saw the paint
sweet Jean Marie,
there was fauna on the vines
tears were strewn to the rivers
and clouds all broke from sun shine,
brushes all danced within colors
hues in shades of strain
the moon facing all delights
and daylight harboring pain.
Tiny strokes of little blends
puffy skies of woven lament,
I saw you there my sweet Marie
under crowds and chaotic light
above songs in bright delight
between the stars up close
and the ones way out of sight.
Your fingers moved in gentle might
where your heart was in a song
and the mind was deep within its flight
but the woe was much to strong,
and the pull lulled you asunder.
Still shines the glitter of your pave
where your feet are still in wonder
great visions lost in after thought
and the treads of sullen blunder;
tis here my darling Jean Marie
I find you as my painting
hanging graceful upon the nigh,
where here upon the flowered wall
in all its creepy crawling
the tones of shades a bleeding
at the silence of your calling.
I’ll hear you now from the end of time
reaching through your veil
harboring lonely lullabies
as the sun is set to sail;
beauty has never been so lost
as the song of my sweet Marie
like a dream wrought out upon the page
or a scene that was meant to be.