sing it

looking into the glass my elders poured for me. i wonder how there enchantment with there world makes mine better. my mysteries are of a colored past broken up by feelings i did'nt have time to have. reading in markers for them to keep time.       is this the world you made for me or should i take a left at the garden.   what pleasured past helps them paint there picture. because i could'nt be there.       i try to show them the path i take. each step we take is a struggle,to bring them along. realizing we don't dance the same song ,our rhythms bounce us in different directions. sometimes pleased with ourselfs for even trying.     is this the you made for me or should i take a left at the garden. what pleasured past helps them paint thier picture . be i could'nt be there.      as days spin by,carrying notions of the sadness toward our children. bound to make the same mistakes even after all the glasses we drank. now noticing our timings off on the dance. is this the world you made for me or should i take a left at the garden.