Am I not more than just letters and alphabets ?

I blossom flowers and array them in colour —
beauty to be admired,
a river to wash away sorrow,
a whisper of hope for tomorrow.

In a web of scandals I am weapon — for truth, for lies, for bottom feeders.
I shift the views of mankind,
I give birth to leaders.

I’ve felt the gentle hand of a lover,
the pain of a broken heart,
the tears of despairing minds,
and the fears of villainous victims burdened with sin.

I've witnessed horrors in hollow places.
I'm forever in an abyss of blissful sorrows .

Through countless centuries I've been a mirror for reflecting notions and emotions,I confess
I am a donkey exhausted but allowed no rest.

I await the day when the last man  lays down his pen and
welcomes the grim reaper as an old friend, I too would be able to finally rest.

The pen trembles, the paper perspires,the hand remains steady. Or is the mind weary and reality an illusion within a dream?
Infatuated with harmonising every line. Your mind is violent but your words are quiet. incessantly bleeding the pen with no anguish, just anarchic serenity as you conclude with tranquil tragedies.

I will be like a tree to you
neath whose shade you lie
as the days pull you down
and my branches long for
the pull of your weight-
the only kind I will allow
to pull me down.

Painless is the way
I shed my leaves for you,
die a slow death
all for your love for a golden autumn,
and again I come back to life for you,
because winter is a lonely business.

Your faith in my hold
is strengthened over these glad years,
unbreakable perhaps,
like how my roots are interwoven
into your ribs.

My poetry is eternal for you,
growing each day
and when you cut me open,
the rings will tell you of the years
I bled for you.

I will be a tree to you,
your very own Eden,
and the day I die,
I hope my roots reach out to you
when the time comes for you to
marry into the earth.

Only a vehement storm
can put me down.

I once saw a rose amongst xanthic flowers, even the thorns were nothing short of perfection before these eyes. time passes by as we fail to realise that it is forever an unassailable overflowing river.
Now I find myself in a garden of neanirmophics, where eyes are deceived by the beauty of decaying roses.

At the shore of the ocean I saw
a penguine flapping it's wings climbing the wind,
left the sky shattered
Into pieces I couldn't breath.

Feathers fell from the sky and
lifted what was left behind.
I closed my eyes and continued living blind.