In the blue and grey Picasso dirty yellow music played. By long emaciated fingers, frail and calloused, strings shimmered. Fingered strings in blue, in the mood of life ending, poor and sad, alone ten fingers played somber tones by the heart of an old, bearded man. And his head bowed for his notes, for his sadness - for a pence. A loaf of bread would get him by; for water he drank rain that poured on him nightly near the somber blue-grey ocean port. To live among him was to learn of him; to w...

As she nears another night and I watch spread the yellow light of dawn in the sun's rise, I helplessly recognize the relentless beckoning and banshee shreiking of Creativity's call: "Bring thee to the page! Script on scroll. Paint the canvas in strolling strides. Straddle reality, it's a horse to ride. Dance with struggle and flirt with the tide."

As she nears another night and I watch spread the yellow light of dawn at the sun's rise I helplessly recognize the hopeless artistry and hap-hazard lucidity of hearing Creativity's call: "Bring thee to the page! Script on scroll. Paint the canvas in strolling strides. Straddle reality, it's a horse to ride. Dance with struggle. Flirt with the tide."

"Part One" Shannon dreamed, created, inspired, then died. "The Sequel" Her pass proved death draws fame. "Headstone" 'I died before I loved you.'

"Part One" Shannon dreamed, created, inspired, then died. "The Sequel" Her death proved woes draw fame. "part The Third" 'I died before I loved you.'

"Part One" Shannon dreamed, created, inspired, then died. "The Sequel" Her death proved woes draw fame. "part The Third" 'I died before I loved you.'