My poetry is not for you. My heart is. My words belong to the wind. Emotions cause this volcano to explode. A release of rhythm, of prose Of joys and of pains Of memories of today.
You are a muse. That's amusing. A tempest of a temptress, Your touch sings maladies on my soul. A dirge of crystal tears Reflecting lost hope Lost love.
This poem is not for you. Yours is a smile that lightens This burdensome heathen. Whilst your scorn leaves new scars Over old, Like a worn patchwork cloak, That no wizard ever wore But this one dons with the certainty Of the pious And the loved.