Pour your soul out onto the canvas. Spill it here. Drip it there.

Give a little of yourself, child...the picture is dull without your tiny spark.

I saw a baby today, reaching her hand out toward me, but I could not, oh no, I could not make eye contact because an infant's soul is the purest creation. She would have seen straight through these dull eyes into my diseased heart and she would cry.

Heaven forbid.

I saw a mother today, caressing her child's face and the bond they shared, oh, it was so intense...like two lovers intwined, they have a link, a grasp on the soul of the other. A kiss on the lips joins two hearts, but nothing, oh nothing, can compare to the union of mother and child.

My dying heart gasps for air, longs for relief but I refuse it, oh, I tell it that the pain will soon subside...time is always the answer.

Months slip by but the days are the ones I cannot handle. Climbing that mountain and reaching for a friendly root to grasp, I find the silt and pebbles slipping through my tapering fingers as I fall down, down and away from you.