Music is my life

A guitar in one hand
a camera in the other,
soothing, sunset-smooth sand,
sitting with my mother.
A melody singing my heart,
for her, a treacle tart.
Sea, vast ocean
songs are not just an emotion.

A perfect day spent,
music brings them together.
She saw a place to vent,
sensing it was her daughter.
Was it the song I composed?
Or the perfect notes?
Clearly care, I suppose?
We could relate to distant boats.

Even a camera couldn’t
capture the moment,
I was a broken hymn,
forbidden to be stronger.
I was relieved
when I cried longer.
My dream was crumpled
like a piece of paper,
I blamed circumstances
when I was the reaper.

I’m not perfect,
not this shape poem is,
I’m shaping a form
the curves are uneven,
whether it’s the music
that lives for me or I,
live cause of music.
I don’t know why,
I’m flawed and