The bay of morrow peak

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.

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