A Sense of Yearning

Watching the palette, spoke a bemused Richard Brown "Must I pour bright red all over your gown ? Make a soporific colour for your half closed eyes With thick oil and paints to blend your lies. Just above your temples a scintilla of violet And your cheeks below dry, no, maybe a little wet; The tranquil shade of the smile on your lips Hiding behind your nonchalant golden hair wisps..." The brushes of Richard Brown danced along And the cerulean composition became a song He watched beauty carve out of creative stains And from terra incognita came rushing his pains Washing his brush, said he in a voice weak : "Elizabeth, there's a promise you failed to keep. For now, you are looking into my eyes, straight A thousand years is perhaps a long wait In this picture shall I watch your eyes Never losing those dreams over the endless skies Look, your lips are red, brighter than the rose The song's been written, the diary's 'bout to close..." Standing up, Richard

Why couldn't I be like that? A little boy, playing in the sun And chasing butterflies...? Knew I shall grow up one day Like everybody else And I feared the sun would stop Smiling back at me... Why do children grow up? Is it necessary to learn to lie? To fake smiles, to wear masks? To get lost in the rigmaroles That life offers aplenty? To hear about 'being a good person' And not being one, but still growing up? To write songs about love And lend them to the most undeserving? To consider your mother a burden Whose absence had once meant darkness? I'm the greediest person in the world 'Cause I wish to have the biggest treasure.... The days that sped way too fast... I want to lose balance and fall From my little bicycle again.... I want my father to bear my weight On his shoulders, singing unmelodious songs I wish to get awed staring at the rainbows Instead of knowing every scientific explanation I wish to fall, g