The components of life I strive to thee,
a line, one complete masterpiece.
A piece so vaguely drawn complicated as if the morning dawn.
Yonder where thy art is born,
while others are harshly scorned.
To the point of no return,
that line turned diagonally so far gone
cannot see this majesty.
Simple as the horizon,
but distressful as the travel of blood,
a heart beats every minute when this clock stops ticking
the deadline is never ending.
The ending of yours but beginning of a lifeline
sparking an active streak,
as the artist draws it speaks,
to everyone willing to listen to the stories told
of those who behold, the world with all their might
Strutting about the new found fight,
to not be just a pigment in space
Where the dots are connected,
a false move and you are disconnected from life
that line same as a neonate
in the womb of a mother’s umbilical cord without it survivals at stake
I live on this lyricism
'I feed on it's art'
Where it once layed dorment,
Now it bleeds from it's heart
But ironicly its good,
That it freely imparts,
That it gives me its words,
And it stands by remarks
Isnt it right for words to be intelligent.?
And isnt it okay to 'indulge' in its excellence.?
I learned long ago that words have power,
And art from the heart can seek and devour
But im the eater of my words,
I am what i eat,
I am the intelligence that hangs in my teeth
Its a gift
Its a privledge..for whomever it will reach
For as long as this lyricism lives, i am..me