his heart like a 20 oz framing hammer
his fists a sledge
his mind keen as a straight edge and razor knife
his body made hard from long hours
a grip like a pipe wrench
he would shake hands with vise grips
his gaze unnerving
but smart
he could see through the blueprints
when he laughed , which was seldom,
he shook the foundations.
When you needed his help,
he was there.

People, they don't wish to see, or hear
Reality
They like only what they see, that is pleasant,
Their reality,
Consists only of *******
Parties, skin,
Thats it
Skin, and bone
No more,
No less
Silly creatures
Feeling nothing,
Seeing
Even
Less,
Yep,
Thats people

Heaven help us all,
And GOD bless

She counted time not,
In hours or even days
But in stollen moments
Glances, caught
From loving eyes
Graceful touches,
Deemed "sins"
The wife of a beast,
Daughter of a merchant
She, the sold wares
Counting not, the hours of absense
But time gauged in wishes,
Her scarlet letter, blackened
Worn over her breast
Scars hidden,
Beneath fine clothes
She wears the jewels given her,
To blind onlookers
To the cloaking darkness,
That covers her soul

"I was taken out of the womb, into
the world.
Then placed in the Kingdom.
Born Again."

just wait one minute
the theory of art
can it be like VanGogh's
stars be monumental
for the sake of drama ,
is the winsome guitar in my favorite song
just  a prop in this play
of a rock opera?
Can it be art is just a
short way of saying artificial?
Does my heart sing her song
play a song of ethereal  longing just for a
effect?
And does art
in her theory stand for artificial , is my sight
so shortsighted?