I long to create

A willful chase

A dying need for a warm embrace

A sickened seed to full grown tree

The world is black

Woe is me

I long to dream

a silent stream

of never ending pagan scenes

and thus entwined in flowered vine

a crisp and bitter yielding time

I long to stand

with heart in hand

In a tragic sea of harsh demands

to forever paint and fascinate

with eyes the world never forgave

I long to escape