Author Information
Cruelly Judged.
Such words are his
they weave our dreams,
drift through our hearts
like moon-dipped streams.
Amber notes of songbird lilt
cascade from poets' pen,
draw us up, with him to fly
to cast within a zephre'd eye.
Yet this is not enough to see
in greed a gilded cage to tie,
berate the giver of the gold
for he has failed to live their lie.
A brush is not the canvas bare
an artist not the paint,
a songbird may the heaven's hold
but he's the singer, not the saint.
Perfect Human
A contradiction in terms. It is a delicate brush stroke to influence, to demand is to get told ~A~
Love your reply, thats very
Love your reply, thats very true.