Words could not contain her,
Nor art could retain her,
For she held the universe within her,
And she knew it to be true.

Want is cheap,
I believe I need you.

Adorn myself with exuberant strength,
Not a moment of weakness.
Conquer all that lies ahead,
Not a moment to call my own.
Dream with my eyes wide open,
Sleep is for when I die.

For I love the raw nature of your soul,
And I will unearth all the secrets it claims to hold.

To provoke you,
To adore you.
To curse you,
To worship you.
To ease you,
To tease you
But never will I write to please you.

Peculiar air to fill my lungs
While the tales of the ancient fill my ears
A foreign taste to select on my buds,
An unknown land, is what my feet yearn.
For my eyes to see what my mind has dreamed,
And my heart to fall madly in love with a world unexplored.
In every new place, in every unfamiliar face,
In every packed suitcase,
My soul is home.

To be jealous of paper
It is maddening, yet true.
Watching you through silent eyes
Your ink stained hands
Making strokes in a panic haste
Etching jagged lines, in silent leisure
Timed uncertainty, passionate intensity
My eyes follow your moments in pure silence
Your hands create passion, the artist is art
And I stand there, jealous and helpless
For among the drawn paper
Lies a piece of my heart