You are the elaborate mural painted ever so intricately within my mind.
You are the thousands of hands pushing against my chest.
You are the one who strings my harp from the strands of my being.
Without you, art is dull. Words are meaningless.
Water composed of fire becomes bittersweet. Walls of reality collapse.
Without you, the colours of sound grow grey and tiresome.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
You are the elaborate mural painted ever so intricately within my mind.
You are the thousands of hands pushing against my chest.
You are the one who strings my harp from the strands of my being.
Without you, art is dull. Words are meaningless.
Water composed of fire becomes bittersweet. Walls of reality collapse.
Without you, the colours of sound grow grey and tiresome.