Peep through the crack, she could see
Him walking through the white picket fence
She dreaded the wooden knock that would wake her babe
She longed for it all the same

It surprised her, the pang she felt
The missed beat, never missed no matter the years
The turmoil she felt tormented her
She loved and hated him all the same

She opened the door, the familiar eyes
The brown shiny eyes perfectly framed by glasses
He smiled, it never really touches the hazel
But a smile is a smile all the same

She had to leave, she always knew
But the sight of him always softened her will
She gazed at her sweet breathing softly in the crib
Trying to draw strength, in vain
She had to leave, but needed to stay all the same

Picked her babe and purse on the mantle
She strode out the fence, as he showered
She thought no thoughts, no thoughts no feelings
Key in ignition, on impulse she was relying
Her babe nuzzled softly against her thin frame
Tears welled, but she smiled all the same

Let it be.

Creativity that comes with a degree of ambiguity can be very alluring. A poet should refrain from explaining his poem. An artist shouldn't be asked to dissect his own work. When a creative person presents his work to the world, the best compliment that he could receive is people appreciating it without expecting explanations. It is very hard to explain one's own work. A lot of what comes through is subliminal. Dissection rips it off its beauty. But then dissection is also sometimes capable of revealing beauty.

Listen to the heart that writes,

It has no want for needless whispers.

Rejoice in the eyes that paint,

They have no need for painstaking rant.

There is world of wonder in unexplained tears,

There is charm endearing in words unsaid,

The greys in truth, add color you see

Seek comfort in unknowing, it will set you free

Knotted fingers splayed across white paper

Mosaic creased skin, green veins throb through

She cracked her knuckles against the steely table

Barely breathing whilst she drew

She paused, fingertips pressed against scrawny wrist

Her pulse still felt strong, steady and slow

She sighed, stretched out, observed her hands

Once smooth and beautiful, now tremulous n old

Starchy white paper beneath powdery black charcoal

There is beauty sometimes, in simple stark contrast

But look closely n study, a trained eye will know 

No detail was worthy, no impression would last

There was a time when the lady saw glory

Her touch could put Midas to shame

Each easel, each one held a wonderful story

But in time there was no story to share

Her work, last few were stacked in a corner
It had been months since she had seen the light
Forehead creased, she tried to stop the tremor
No difference, no matter how hard she tried

She sighed once more, at the corner she gazed
There were going to be no more glorious days
She looked around at the wooden walls she built
It was time, about time to see the light again

The stroke of the matchstick, the smell of burnt ash
It burnt through canvas, the corner was a flame
Eyes closed, leaned back, the walls now orange
Smiled softly, she would see the light again

A step taken too far,
A step a step ahead of what I can take
Its foggy its hazy though the lights are alight
No conscience no heartbeat no fear of what might

I can hear raindrops though I see no rain
Blood flows down my temple but I feel no pain
Glance down I see my fingers are red
I can see you but I don't think that you really there

The babies cry cause they know what you don't
The dogs howl cause they see whilst you blind
A step taken too far maybe noticed by none
No conscience at all, no urge to run

Look back through the years, its such a waste of time
Memories, all of em are meant to be dumped
The bad brings regrets, the good sweet pain
The now that matters, is lost again

A step taken too far, you have burnt your toes
No conscience, no pain, but the scar will remain
You can walk, you can run
But the red will still stain

But then just stop and think, none of it is real
There is no right no wrong, no morals that bind
No God is judge, nobody on trial
Do what you do, though the sins may pile

A step taken too far maybe the step that is needed
Red on white fingers, it had to be done
Balance restored, no matter babies no dogs
No conscience, no heartbeat, no fear of what might