This fruit is on fire.
I set it ablaze!
Facing a liar
deep in the haze

Branches lay broken,
the ground soaked with blood.
Words left unspoken,
all sink in the mud.

The axe is left shattered,
edge wedged in the trunk.
The pieces are scattered -
the pledge of a drunk.

The roots rot in silence,
deep underground.
Tasting the iron,
not hearing a sound.

And now again I think tomorrow;
Hoping faith will shine its light
On this pencil that I borrowed
From the witches of the night.

The air trembles, walls are shaking;
Lord please take not the dark
For it shows me the never breaking
Brightness of this art.

If tomorrow never comes
Today my hand will rise
And my pencil will become
Enlightened by my eyes.