I wish I had been born an artist
Rather than a seasonal poet at best
In fall I beseech the lust woven skies
For the fabric of inspirational bliss
And as the page of my life turns
In the bitter cold I embrace dear winter's kiss
But skimming through heart broken chapters
I arrive in a cloudy spring of emptiness
So I wade amongst my words in shallow thought
Unappeased with what I am becoming
I have fallen under the magic it brings
To the tune and beat sweet rhythm sings
Poetry, thy wanton jester begs
What meadow would choose dusk over dawn
What heart would choose another over you
To hold love so near
As flowers hold a morning's dew
© 2008 Fantecstasy
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/16652/105615 on Tuesday December 02nd, 2008 01:35 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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