I look apone my painting of life,
Brush strokes of the dark and the light,
Sometimes blended to well the difference unclear,
Trying new marks not showing the fear,
looking on others thoughts and dreams,
they all look so perfect in their own seen’s,
but mine seems so different not the same,
so many marks rearranged or changed,
my future goals still unmarked,
sometimes I feel I'm painting in the dark,
some happy faces are just painted on smiles,
smiles sometimes abbreviated because they go on for miles,
but when left alone to paint my tales,
thoughts of mark changes from my fail,
but life changing attempts scattered along,
like lily pads sitting on their ponds,
so when my painting is unchangeably finished,
when I'm gone and diminished,
will someone show this painting of mine,
or a lost painting no one cares to find.