My poetic ink
tirelessly thinks.
Thoughts in perfect patterns;
only the wise can discern.
Ink on a serial spill...
the feeling of an ecstasy pill.
Beauty bounces with pride.
Nowhere for sweetness to hide.
The voice of a pen;
melody in the ears of brethren.
Whispers woven with wisdom...
confidence rolls out in random.
Poetry as my culture;
the sole definition of nature.
Beauty without a blame;
prettiness that can't be tamed.
My pens and poetry...
corpses and a cemetery.
Nothing can put asunder;
lightning and the thunder.
