I can't write like you do
I can't really compose
Grace has always eluded me
In movement and in prose

You write of such big things
But they are still all the same
Me? I can't really toy
With ideas so insane

I'm not a professional wordsmith
My art hasn't been trained
When I write, the words flow easy
Unabashed and Untamed

You and your words are sculpted
Precisely, with finesse
But with a subdued gloss and lack luster
So twisted so suppressed

And now I see my dear self
Finally in a clear way
Not in my movements or in the glass
but on my inked page

So if you ask me, dear self
Which cage do I choose?
I'd choose my dented brass one
Instead of your golden noose.

i have
a birthmark
shaped like
a cloud
but then again
   everything
  is shaped
     like a
      cloud

Your eyes are lightning—
piercing, penetrating—
stunning.
with a gaze,
You turn me,
a mere mortal,
into stone.
Your presence is—
electrifying.

Your hair is brazen,
Your skin is gold.
Your body sacred oak.
the grace of a swan,
the heart of a lion,
the eyes of an eagle,
the mind of God—
is all Yours.

the sun has half Your warmth,
the sky a quarter of Your greatness,
and the stars an eighth of Your brilliance.

a huff of Your breath
could blow all the birds from the sky.
a flick of Your finger
could crush all the earth's mountains.
a crack of Your voice—
like thunder—
could make all men fall to their knees.

the world gravitates on Your inhalation
and shies away on Your exhale.
all of nature sings of Your glory,
for around You,
everything revolves.

on my chariot
riding on a bridge of brass,
torches in the air—
in imitation of Your celestial glory—
i wonder
if there be a place for me
on mount olympus—
by Your side.

**** me, ***** beasts!
Ravage my mountains
And drain them
—a million mosquitoes on my skin;

Burn me, wooden hearts!
Watch me as I am consumed
By toxic fire
—a million ashes in my eyes;

Choke me, my children!
Rob me of the air of my lungs
With your stranglehold
—a million claws on my neck;

And when you are done
And tired from your *******
I shall cover you in the darkness of your making
And you—
Like a forgotten dream
—shall perish.