Somewhere Between Prose and Poetry Lies a World Only Poets and True Believers See, A Place Where Stars and Clouds and Hopes and Dreams Go To Find Reality
I have this urge to paint with words,
To create a landscape so majestic with my vast lexicon.
I have beautiful songs inside of me screaming to come out.
They tangle, line after line.
With the sunsets and the fireflies that coinside.
With midnight skies when the brightest day meets the most empty night,
And the young teach the old how to live.
But some how, all of that makes sense.
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