I would love to be a painter…
to feel the shade that cast the leaves, and print the earth with sombre seeds,
to feed the eyes with myriads of coloured lights and mystful sights,
an artist who’s sword flees every word, fills so sweetly what you’re worth.
I wish to make you out to be, only what my heart perceives,
there a flower, a rose to me, on this paper for eternity.
I’d draw your smile, my lips curled in, so men could dream a beauteous thing,
it serves me right to spend my nights, staring out at lifes delights.
See all i know is mine own eyes, but this world flows behold my demise.
Don’t look at me, with greed or envy, for I am he who feeds the lonely,
from upon your window where you stand, descend my clouds and unto land.
This is my gate and heavens bell, this is my sorrow and my hell.
I am alone, and all thats mine, are my dear friends my pens desinged…