I placed my hope between the wings of honey bees
To watch them fly away with it
My dreams, upon stars glittering in the velvet beyond
They've long since fallen
Thoughts of life,
given to butterflies, only to poison them
Voice, placed in a crows mouth
Only a caw
Any beauty in my possession
went to the gargoyles, they needed it more
My heart, I so gently laid upon the flower petals
Then winter came
My Love,
I climbed the mighty oak,
And placed it in the leaves
To watch it fall, leaf by leaf,
turning to dust
in the cold~A

.
Still pale grey earth is turned,
Deep is the loam moisted,
Lone by the Ploughman.

The rows of the brushed patches,
Sweating the breakneck blood,
Are painted by labours.

Messiah doors out cathedral,
With iron plod anoints the soil,
Exposed unto mercy sun.

His hands are knobbed in stone,
His eyes searing of the star,
His face dark as deep loam.

Each day ablutions of sod earth,
Heaved out tilling unfree wills,
Burdens of harnessed beast.

Dark is the turned loam moisted,
Water flame heat of veined mist,
Seeds sown explode to bloom.

After thorny works, crowned blood,
Sun leaves to wine red fruition,
Ploughman maker is done.

keep swimming silly
enjoy the lonely silence
just keep being you

Poetry is art
A blank canvas and a brush
We paint with our hearts