the
poet
is
the
faithful eyes of
the
watchman painter
who
receives
faith and longevity
to
reflect the world
through
his
broad brush strokes
seen and unseen
between
heaven and earth

I've been thinking about you

and I still care for you and then some

even, after you've hurt me in a nightmare

or when my fear becomes reality

my love,

you've been a pillow for me head

you've cheered me on when needed

and you'll always be where it's comfortable

And over time,
My pen stopped bleeding
But my heart didn't