.....The brush rushes the paint, the
                        grudge    
    is ripe. Cultivate it or let it rust.
  The paint stale, the painter frail.
   Caved canvas like sails of a sailor.
  Clash of nimbuses pales the skin  
as thunder waltzes ashore the ocean,
       ballets on the sea like swans
  entwined dancing with the wind.
You'll love the voice of melody when  
                  harmony sings.
       Deep bliss drowns sins for    
      peace to glimpse the surface

              Poets — coherent,
          honest with even pens
     and odd ends. Warm hearts
               with cold hands.
      The bane engaged with pain,
               as faith fades and
          blank pages mar sanity.
                Life springs anew
From the well of thoughts flowing
                Through the pen.