Sunday, July 20, 2014


Writing mends broken beauty 
Like port holes into stained glass windows 

Making ashes to hearts again 
Setting fire to the past 
So let's breathe 

I walk on the water 
Trying not to drowned 
My enemies try to distract me 
Mocking me

I laugh 

There bellies full of guile 

My path may be unsure 
But I'm moving forward

I catch the first train 
To where ever holds my dreams 
If it isn't this 
It will be that 

But it goes on 

It's a canvas 
Life's drawn in 
Wish I could paint it in ahead 
Call me Picasso 
But I'm just the writer instead