To go into the forest deep


To go into the forest deep

And not a soul would know where I breathe.

The rain kissed earth, the sun bathed rain,

My notebook filled with words yet to write

With the ink that is yet to be spilled.

And upon my word, I swear

I would forever live and die there.

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Ode to my muse

sketch of a man

If words be written to seal the beauty

and art to capture all that words can’t

then every drop that into papyrus bleed

and every brush that into the canvas weep

will do so for my muse alone.

Yet truth it is that all smithy would fail

to transcend his being into inky hues

for never did beauty reside in words

and never was art fairer than my muse. Continue reading