Beauty Thinks It Needs No Talent And

At The End Of The Rainbow Waited The Pot Of Gold. But Rainbows Were Made Of Faint And Fragile Gossamer-and Gold Weighed A Ton-and Since The World Began, Gold Was The Reason To Do Most Anything.

It Was The Eyes. The Secret Of Love Was In The Eyes. The Way One Person Looked At Another, The Way Eyes Communicated And Spoke When The Lips Never Moved.

My Thoughts Took Frantic Flight, Wanting To Escape This Prison, And Seek Out The Wind So It Could Fan My Hair And Sting My Skin, And Make Me Feel Alive Again.

Perhaps Lovers Aren't Supposed To Look Down At The Ground. That Kind Of Story Is Told In Symbols-and Earth Represents Reality, And Reality Represents Frustrations, Chance Illnesses, Death, Murder, And All Kinds Of Other Tragedies. Lovers Are Meant To Look Up At The Sky, For Up There No Beautiful Illusions Can Be Trampled Upon.

Patience. I Colored Patience Gray, Hung Over With Black Clouds. I Colored Hope Yellow, Just Like The Sun We Could See For A Few Short Morning Hours. Too Soon The Sun Rose High In The Sky & Disappeared From View, Leaving Us Bereft And Staring At Blue.