the blank page
scratched and scarred
by the pencil

the sharp pencil
sacrificing itself
to the page

the written page
does not feel tarnished
by the pencil’s residue

the dull pencil
does not feel diminished
by the loss of graphite

both page and pencil
when disfigured and destroyed
fulfill their potential

even
the
main
character
of
my
own
story
?

She's in a
self imposed cage.
I can see it in
her eyes;
a demon's hell-fire.
She loathes humanity,
especially men.
Anyone can blame
past circumstances for
how they are currently,
but ultimately,
love unlocks the
door to the
prison of hate.

Poetry
Consider it / Art
Upon a different kind of canvas.
Paint colorful the words
That weep brushstrokes
A masterpiece of true blue

Fool, let your words flow
Your virtual canvas imbued
With learned mind aglow.
A light tower on the Hill
Picturesque poems
Low and On the down
Low and behold
The rhyme of stone willed.
Still Art / life / on canvas
Of a different kind...
Paint colorful the words.

Yours is a tapestry.
Grapes ripe on the vine.
Be the Art
flowing like wines,
Drowning in the emotions.
Oh poetry.

Never cease the heart
Live loud your Love
an act & the Art.
You are
Poetry.

a moment, a slice, a flash
Oh the mind! mind has uncountable layers
deeps and depths unfathomed!
Mountains to fall from
one small trip and you are gone!

The serenity of the park
Stirs gently in my soul
I walk around and ponder
The wonders of God
The  birds flying softly
Over my head
Cicadas singing on morning duty
Ripples on the sparkling lake
Gentle breezes kiss my cheek
I can't thank God enough
Nor praise Him enough
From my heart
Or even a poem
For loving me and dying
For me
But I'll  try